


very really married

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake Marriage, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-07-10 11:30:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 66,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15948452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: Giles and Jenny's flights to Sunnydale both stop over in Las Vegas. On the same day. Naturally, a chance encounter leads to a drunken marriage, one that they mutually agree to keep up for appearances.Which is to say: Giles is going to have to figure out how to hide his fake marriage from his new Slayer (and everyone else) while also hiding his new Slayer from his fake wife (and everyone else). And his complex feelings for Jenny aren't helping anything.





	1. prologue: the death of respectability

From both a professional and a personal standpoint, Rupert Giles took a great deal of pride in the fact that he had spent his post-college years behaving in as respectable a manner as possible. The higher-ups at the Council had met his return to the fold with doubt and dismissiveness, not even bothering to hide that they were anticipating him loudly stirring up trouble and then leaving again within a week’s time. He had been the source of gossip for a good few months, but he had kept determinedly and politely out of trouble, and, as such, the gossip died down after that.

Still, it had always been clear: no one in the Council thought all that highly of him, and everyone in the Council expected him to inevitably collapse inward on himself as he had done in college. Despite the many people who believed the worst of him, Giles had made determined efforts to establish himself as a respected academic figure, and those efforts had finally paid off when he was assigned Merrick’s Slayer. Being assigned the Slayer of a Watcher who had died wasn’t quite as great an honor as being assigned a brand new Slayer to train, but he was optimistic. Perhaps, if he proved himself in this context, another Slayer might be assigned to him within the next few years. He would hate himself, years later, for being so detached and indifferent when it came to a young girl’s life—but currently, detached indifference characterized most of his interactions outside his life as a Watcher, and he was comfortable with that.

He hadn’t been anticipating the curveball life threw him, which was this: his Sunnydale flight was delayed in Las Vegas. Perhaps things might have been a bit different had he simply headed to the hotel the Council had booked him, but he was feeling high on life and delighted by his own successes, and as such, he decided to explore some of the night life while waiting for his plane to arrive. After all, what ramifications would one night of celebration have?

* * *

 

The woman at the third bar Giles entered (bar one had been full of a nauseating amount of garish, multicolored lights, and bar two’s music had been so loud that his ears were still ringing) was being hit on by a rather persistent and well-dressed fellow, one who didn’t seem to be taking no for an answer. “Come on, honey, don’t be such a priss—” he was saying, sliding his hand up the woman’s thigh.

Without missing a beat, the woman tossed her drink in his face. Sputtering, the man stumbled backwards into Giles, then, looking extremely embarrassed, hurried out the door. Giles, who had been close enough to catch a few droplets, sat down at the vacated stool and attempted to mop his face.

“I’m really not interested,” said the woman.

“Neither am I,” said Giles, irritated by the presumption. “Would you kindly pass me a napkin? Your incredibly sophisticated retaliation has splashed my glasses.” To the bartender, he added, “Scotch, neat, thank you kindly.”

The woman scoffed, indignant. “I’m sorry,” she said, “are you saying that _my_ actions were immature? That gorilla of a man would’ve been feeling me up if I’d let him go any farther—”

Giles pressed his lips together as he took his drink from the bartender. “I am _trying,_ ” he said, “to _recover_ from being _doused_ with liquid. Pardon me if my views on the situation are not nuanced enough for you.”

“ _Doused_ with liquid?” said the woman skeptically, sliding her empty glass in the bartender’s direction for a refill. “More of that hit him than you.” To Giles’s surprise, she first removed his glasses, then raised a napkin to his face, dabbing at his cheek with an almost amused expression. “You’re dramatic,” she said, “but I can understand that I might not have made the _best_ first impression.”

“Opening with _I’m really not interested_ does tend to sour the mood, yes,” said Giles, who was suddenly very aware of how breathtakingly beautiful this woman was. Dark brown eyes, soft dark hair that ended at her chin, and a strapless purple dress that did a very nice job of emphasizing her décolletage—cutting off that train of thought, he hastily changed the subject. “That man really was quite dreadful. Do you know him?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” said the woman wryly. “We went to the same college a thousand and one years ago, and apparently he thought that reason enough to put some truly terrible moves on me.”

Thinking of Ethan, Giles snorted. “I’ve seen worse,” he said.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Someone I dated in my college years once came up to me and said, without preamble, _would you like to shag it out at your place or mine?_ ” Giles was surprised that he was telling anyone at all this long-hidden memory, but then it was always easier to bare one’s soul to a stranger. “And this was the first time I’d ever met them, bear in mind—”

“God, that’s terrible,” said the woman, sounding positively delighted. “Did he get handsy?”

Giles blinked, feeling himself blush.

“I’ve done enough pronoun skirting myself to know when a guy’s got an ex-boyfriend,” said the woman, giving him a small smile. “Me, I date both boys and girls, but you seem—”

“Same as yourself,” said Giles, and they clinked glasses; he felt a strange, warm rush at her pleased laugh. “Though I’ve not met one who’s quite as forthcoming as you in a very long time.”

“Well,” said the woman, and shrugged almost uncomfortably, though her smile remained easy and light. “It’s pretty easy to be honest when you’re not a local. Odds are I won’t be seeing you again after tonight.”

“Oh?” said Giles, surprised.

“I’m traveling,” said the woman. “My flight’s got me camped out here for the night.”

“How odd,” said Giles, smiling a bit. “I’m laid over myself.” He set down his glass, then stuck out his hand. “Rupert Giles,” he said.

“Jan—” The woman stopped, turning a strange, almost embarrassed red as she took his hand. “Jenny Calendar,” she said finally, decisively. “So, Rupert Giles, would you like to have a consequence-free night out on the town? I personally am _aching_ for some reckless activities to pursue.”

Perhaps if Jenny hadn’t been so enigmatic, or so pretty, Giles might have remembered himself and gently turned her down. But by this point, he’d spent many incredibly boring years of his life playing things safe for the sake of the Council, and the thought of one night where he could forget all that was much too intoxicating to resist. “I would be delighted,” he said, letting his voice dip low and dangerous in a way it hadn’t in years, and Jenny’s answering smile gave him a dizzying thrill.

* * *

 

His  _head._

Giles’s first thought through the fucking intolerable pain that was throbbing behind his forehead was _why in God’s name is it so bloody bright in this room._ His second thought was _why am I so hungover,_ and his third thought was _did I miss my flight,_ and then all these thoughts left his head when he rolled over and collided with a half-asleep Jenny Calendar, sans purple dress and tangled in the bedsheets.

“Oh, lord,” he whispered. This was _truly_ irresponsible behavior for a Watcher of his caliber, not to mention an incredibly ungentlemanly thing to do. He was not, and had never been, the sort of man who had impulsive flings with women he’d only just met, let alone women he would absolutely never encounter again, but—memories of the night before were coming back, of Jenny and the soft, breathless noises he had made as she trailed kisses down his throat, and he had to admit that, regardless of the dire nature of the situation, it had been some truly spectacular sex.

Jenny stirred, groaning. “Why do I feel like a truck just ran me over?” she mumbled, and as she raised her arm to rest it against her forehead, Giles caught sight of a sparkling silver ring on her left ring finger.

“You’re married?” he said, the words coming out sharp and accusing.

Jenny opened her eyes all the way, giving him a reproachful look. To her credit, she seemed to take waking up in bed with a near-stranger _much_ better than Giles himself had. “Of course I’m not married,” she said. “What the hell would give you the idea that I’m married?”

“You’re wearing a wedding ring,” said Giles thinly.

“What?” Jenny squinted at the ring on her finger. Then, slowly, as though trying not to panic, “Hey, Rupert, would you—would you do me a favor, please?”

“What, don’t tell your husband that we slept together?”

“Um—that’s the problem,” said Jenny, sitting up on her elbows. “Could you just—raise your left hand for me, for a second?”

Bemused, Giles obliged, and then felt a sudden dizziness that had _nothing_ to do with alcohol: on his left ring finger was a wedding band absolutely identical to Jenny’s. “Well,” he said weakly, “I suppose I’m _not_ the sort of fellow who stops at just having an impulsive fling,” and then he passed out.


	2. the plane ride

Their marriage certificate was lying on the bureau, right next to Jenny’s bra and what looked like the torn remnants of a cheap wedding veil. Jenny squinted at it from every angle, said finally, “Seems pretty legally binding,” and headed into the bathroom to take a shower, calling over her shoulder, “We’re gonna talk about this _after_ I’ve gotten properly dressed, okay?”

All of Giles’s things were in his hotel room, and so he awkwardly pulled on his clothing from the previous night, wishing he was wearing one of his favorite tweed jackets instead of comfortable yet informal travel clothing. It might make him feel a bit more like himself if he was buttoned up and proper; looking at himself now, all he saw was the sort of idiot who’d get drunkenly married in Las Vegas.

Perhaps everyone did idiotic things in America. Perhaps it was just something in the air, or something.

Jenny exited the bathroom wearing only an incredibly small towel, then let it drop, turning shamelessly to the drawer without seeming at all bothered by Giles’s presence. Giles told himself very firmly that a gentleman would _not_ look, remembered that this was his wife he was looking at, winced a little at the memory of his shameless impulsivity—

“For the love of god, Rupert,” said Jenny, who was adjusting her bra in the small mirror above the bureau, “we’ve already had sex. _Twice._ It’s not like this is the very first time you’ve seen me naked.” She stepped into a pair of jeans, tugging them up and over her hips. “So. We’re married.”

“Not really,” said Giles uncomfortably. “Marriage is a-a contract, a covenant born from love—I can hardly call this a marriage from anything but a legal standpoint.”

“Oh, god, I am obviously being punished for something really terrible I did in a past life,” Jenny groaned as she pulled on a t-shirt, giving Giles a truly exasperated look. “Marriage is ridiculous,” she said. “What counts is a commitment that’s a choice every day, not a promise that you’ll be with the other person forever when you know you can’t _really_ guarantee it. And anyway, this isn’t the point I’m trying to make right now, what I’m trying to say is—”

“That we are in a situation that neither of us would like to be in,” Giles finished. “Not to mention that my flight to Sunnydale leaves in four hours, and if I don’t hurry, I may miss it.”

“Wait,” said Jenny. “Sunnydale—as in Sunnydale, California?”

“Do you know the town?”

Holding up a finger, Jenny hurried over to a beaten-up wheeled suitcase, bending to fish around in the front pocket. After a few seconds, she pulled out a crumpled yellow flyer, holding it out to Giles. “Does that answer your question?” she asked.

Giles looked first at the flyer, then back up at Jenny, then at the flyer again, completely disbelieving. “Sunnydale _High,_ ” he said. “Jenny Calendar, the new computer teacher at Sunnydale _High._ ”

“Yeah, I am,” Jenny began, “why—” then stopped, eyes wide and horrified, and yanked the flyer back. “Rupert Giles,” she read off the bottom of the list of new faculty. “Rupert Giles—new librarian at Sunnydale High—oh my _god,_ Rupert, _please_ tell me that that’s not you.”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” said Giles, somewhat dazed.

“Oh my _god,_ ” said Jenny, bringing her face up to her hands. The flyer fluttered to the ground. “Oh, god, _what_ are the odds?”

“Oh, ten thousand to one, probably,” said Giles dismally, sitting on the edge of the bed. “And I’m assuming we can’t get the marriage annulled without a flurry of gossip surrounding our arrival in Sunnydale?”

“I wanna die,” said Jenny into her hands.

“Yes, well, the feeling is mutual,” said Giles, who had suddenly realized how this would look to the Council. His first day away from a desk job, and he’d _immediately_ married a woman he barely knew, slept with her the same night, and then annulled the marriage as quickly as possible using his Council contacts. His first use of his Council contacts would be to _annul a drunken marriage._ “The way this will look—professionally speaking—I wouldn’t be surprised if I lost my job.”

He’d been talking about the Council, of course, but his thoughts then turned to the library. It certainly wouldn’t look responsible for a school to have a librarian who everyone knew had drunkenly married the computer teacher in Las Vegas. Though he didn’t know much about American culture and customs, he at least knew _that._

“My uncle’s going to be so _mad_ at me,” Jenny mumbled, raising her hands from her face to shakily smooth down her still-damp hair. “He always said he thought I’d do something stupid like this as _soon_ as I was given any real responsibility—”

Giles exhaled. “You know what?” he said. “Why don’t we just focus on getting to the plane? We’ll deal with this in Sunnydale.”

“Okay,” said Jenny, looking up at him with utterly miserable dark eyes. Giles was struck with the ridiculous and impulsive urge to kiss her; furious with himself, he focused on searching the room for his glasses instead.

* * *

 

It was different between them, now. Stranger, and much more strained now that their brief and lovely tryst had had very real consequences. _It could be worse,_ Giles thought, helping Jenny tug her wheeled suitcase down the stairs and towards the waiting taxi, _she could be pregnant,_ and then spent most of the taxi ride to his hotel panicking about exactly that possibility. Had they remembered to use protection, or had he still been caught up in being bloody _spontaneous,_ thus creating even more problems for the both of them? Not, of course, that a baby was a _problem_ ; under the right circumstances a child could be quite the unexpected blessing, and good lord, this line of thinking really wasn’t helping him calm down.

He let his head fall against the backseat of the car. Jenny gave him a nervous, furtive look, then reached out, quietly taking his hand.

Giles jerked it away. “Thank you,” he said crisply, “but I’ve had quite enough of being _reckless._ ”

He regretted his words as soon as he had said them. The very deep hurt in Jenny’s eyes was visible only for a moment, and then she nodded, giving him a small, tight smile. “Got it,” she said. Then, “We did use protection, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Giles wanted to apologize, and was just about to when the taxi stopped in front of his hotel. “I’ll just go in and get my things,” he said awkwardly. “I-if you’d like to drive ahead—”

“Can’t get out of here fast enough, can you?” said Jenny, giving him a tight, displeased smile.

“You know that wasn’t what I meant,” said Giles, flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “I merely thought you deserved some choice in the matter.”

“Seeing as I’m legally handcuffed to you and I don’t even know your middle name,” Jenny replied shortly, “I don’t exactly know what _choice_ I have. For all I know, you could be the kind of guy who sleeps with girls and then leaves them as soon as he can—”

“I am no such gentleman!”

“Really?” said Jenny. “Seems like your _impulsivity_ ended as soon as you woke up married to me.”

Giles stared at her, furious beyond belief. “The idea that you would—would _insinuate,_ ” he managed, “that I would have slept with you and left—”

“That’s what would’ve happened, though,” said Jenny. “You can’t have gone into this expecting that you’d see me again.” There was that hurt in her eyes again, subtle, but still noticeable if one was looking for it.

“I am not the sort of man who has romantic liaisons between flights,” said Giles helplessly. “Sleeping with a woman and leaving her after isn’t a situation that I’ve found myself in recently, or at _all._ Frankly, Jenny, I feel as though you’re being completely unreasonable, expecting me to take all this in stride.”

Jenny nodded, looking a little guilty. “Yeah,” she said. “Well. I guess I’m a little used to being treated like someone who’s easy to leave.”

Giles hadn’t considered this, and it made him feel like a remarkable cad. “Oh,” he said, then, “I-I’m sorry, too.”

“Yeah,” said Jenny again, uncomfortably; it was clear she regretted her admission.

“I’ll go up,” said Giles.

“Okay,” said Jenny. “I’ll wait in the cab.”

He looked back, once, as he was heading up the stairs; Jenny was watching him go with an unreadable expression. He had the strong impression that she wasn’t quite sure what to make of him, and found the feeling incredibly mutual. She was direct, sexy, charismatic, utterly American…absolutely none of the qualities he’d imagined when thinking of the person he might marry. He’d imagined someone soft-spoken, someone better suited for the quietly dangerous life of a Watcher, but then—gentle had never really been his type, had it?

His thoughts muddled, Giles took the elevator to his room and changed his clothes, swapping the day-old sweater and jeans for a more comfortable button-down and slacks. He looked better in this, he thought. Much more himself. It was the small things that made a man feel better, and as he finished packing, there was a bit of a spring in his step. Things didn’t seem _quite_ as bad, really, when not in uncomfortable proximity to a woman he barely knew.

A woman he would be _getting_ to know, apparently, at work. This thought thoroughly killed Giles’s good mood as he was returning his room key, and he was no longer smiling as he exited the hotel.

Jenny had tied her hair up while he was gone, and was neatly applying a fresh coat of lipstick as he clambered back into the backseat. “LAX, and step on it,” she informed the driver without looking at Giles.

“I am sorry,” he said.

“Yeah, sure,” said Jenny flatly. “We’re fine. Let’s just get through this incredibly awkward situation, probably lose our jobs, and go our separate ways.”

A half-formed idea took root in Giles’s brain. He frowned thoughtfully, but didn’t say anything, leaning back as the taxi began to drive.

* * *

 

They were not, as it happened, seated together. The Council had gotten Giles a seat in first class, but Jenny was flying economy, and he only realized this when they called first-class boarders and she didn’t stand up. It was strange and jarring for him to realize that he’d been half-expecting her to be by his side for the rest of the flight, a feeling made worse by the embarrassed flush in Jenny’s face as she watched him go.

The stewardess was giving him an expectant look. Giles glanced back at Jenny, who immediately looked away, and acted without thinking. “I’m so sorry,” he said to the stewardess, raising his voice so that Jenny could hear. “I think there’s been a mistake. My wife and I both paid for first class.”

He looked over at Jenny again. Not only was she looking at him, she was giving him a clearly mortified _what are you doing_ look.

“Really?” The stewardess sounded puzzled. “Your wife being—”

“Jenny?” Giles called, turning back to her.

Jenny stared at him, and then a small, very shy smile crept over her face; it was clear he’d surprised her. She hurried to his side, tucking her hand into his arm, and said reprovingly, “Rupert, I _told_ you, if they’ve made a mistake I can just sit in economy—”

“On our _honeymoon,_ ” said Giles, with as much affronted British class as he could muster, “I would like to be as _close_ to my new bride as possible,” and emphasized his point by brushing a possessive kiss against Jenny’s temple. She laughed, a breathless, surprised sound that passed quite easily for smitten.

The stewardess was smiling slightly. “Newlyweds,” she said with exasperated affection. “Well, Mr. Giles, we’re going to have to bill you a bit differently, but you happen to be in luck—there aren’t many people who travel from Las Vegas to Sunnydale. Sit anywhere you like in first class.”

“My knight in shining armor,” said Jenny, and he felt her fingers lightly stroke the inside of his arm. “Thank you _so_ much, ma’am, I really didn’t want to be any trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” said the stewardess warmly.

Giles and Jenny exchanged a tentative smile. “Shall we—” Giles began.

“Go ahead!” The stewardess ushered them through.

Halfway down the small corridor, Jenny tugged them both to a stop. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said, but her voice was gentle.

“Well, it, it seemed quite ungentlemanly of me to leave my new wife in economy,” Giles answered, blushing, “especially when I myself am in first class.”

“You’re not that bad a husband, Rupert Giles,” said Jenny, giving him the first genuine smile she’d given him all day.

It was perhaps that smile that finally made Giles’s idea take shape—the sparkle in her eyes, the tilt of her smile, her arm still tucked companionably in his. It was true that he’d lived respectably, but he had also lived in near-solitude, and receiving such a beautiful smile was not something he often experienced; her playful demeanor and his fluttery reactions could be used to both of their advantages. “Jenny,” he said, again not thinking as much as he really should have, “I-I have—something of an unorthodox proposition to make.”

“Yeah?”

Giles hesitated. Then he said, “We’re both—new—to Sunnydale. It would indeed put our jobs at risk if we revealed our indiscretion to a respectable establishment, but if we chose to frame it as—something else—”

“Speak English,” said Jenny, lightly teasing, but she sounded curious.

“I think it might benefit us both to remain married,” said Giles very fast. “We’ll still divorce, obviously, just…later.”

Jenny blinked. “What?”

“You saw how well we fooled that stewardess,” Giles continued, the idea fully formed in his head and making a _startling_ amount of sense. “Admitting that we got drunkenly married in Las Vegas to our new employer won’t look good at _all,_ but chalking it up to an act of, of long-lost sweethearts reunited or some other such nonsense—well, it won’t exactly make us look _good,_ but it’ll at least imply that we made an informed _choice.”_

He didn’t add that framing his new marriage as an impulsive, foolishly in-love gesture would be _much_ more accepted in the eyes of the Council, an organization staffed by many romantic academics who had married quite impulsively themselves. He also didn’t add that, given time, his being married might make him seem less like the rebellious Council black sheep and more like a respectable married man. A man whose impulsive decisions inevitably led him in a sensible and positive direction—in this case, marrying a lovely woman while still prioritizing his job as Watcher.

A small bit of guilt tinged these omissions, but he put them aside; staying married would benefit Jenny just as much as him, if not more so. After all, she  _was_ moving to live atop a Hellmouth—his being her husband would enable him to look out for her and protect her from any vampires, not to mention keep her from possibly losing her job as well. He had talked to Vice Principal Snyder on the phone, and the man had put a particular emphasis on Sunnydale High’s respectability; if Flutie was anything like Snyder, both of them would almost _certainly_ lose their jobs long before the divorce proceedings had gone through.

Jenny was frowning, but not in a way that seemed bothered or offended. Rather, she seemed to be thinking things over. “You make a pretty good point,” she said finally. “I come from a pretty traditional family, and—a lot of the reasons I’m moving to Sunnydale has to do with that. If they knew I’d gotten married in Vegas to a total stranger while drunk, they’d almost _definitely_ lose it and give my—responsibility—to someone else.”

She spoke as though she had secrets, but then Giles did too, so he decided not to pry. “Think on it,” he said. “You don’t have to give me an answer, um, immediately, but it’d be quite convenient if you did before the first faculty meeting.”

Jenny exhaled. “No need for you to wait around for my answer,” she said simply. “There really isn’t a better option. Neither of us can afford to lose our jobs before even starting them, and we _are_ pretty surprisingly—um.” She bit her lip, eyes darting to his mouth. “Compatible.”

“Sort of,” said Giles, who was doing his best not to think about the extremely passionate night that had led them to this point.

“Sort of,” Jenny agreed, and actually smiled. “But Rupert—this isn’t a real marriage. I just want to make sure we both know that.”

“Meaning?”

“If we’re going to be married,” said Jenny, “I don’t want you thinking—that that gives you any _marital privileges.”_

Giles stared incredulously. “I would think no such thing!” he said indignantly. “Consent is _quite_ important to me. If you don’t want any romantic contact with me for the duration of this marriage—”

“—and maybe I don’t—”

“—then I will respect that,” said Giles, firm and gentle, “but we _will_ need to act convincingly in love for at least a month or two.”

Jenny’s face softened. “Okay,” she said, and stuck out her hand. “Partners in fake marriage, at least for a little while. It’s pretty clear both of us could stand to gain a lot from this.”

“Quite,” Giles agreed.

“Don’t fall in love with me, England,” said Jenny, giving him an open-mouthed grin as he took her hand.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Giles, feeling strangely buoyed by the situation.

* * *

 

Jenny fell asleep on his shoulder and stayed like that for nearly all of the three-hour flight. Giles would have liked to fall asleep himself, but the comforting weight of another person’s head on his shoulder was dizzying in the trust it implied. He hadn’t been this close to another person in quite a long time. He’d had brief and polite flings when the opportunities presented themselves, but none of those flings had allowed for the gentle intimacy of nonsexual touching, and he had forgotten how much he missed it.

He focused instead on studying her, awkwardly, while she slept. Her dark hair had fallen half-out of its awkward updo, most of it resting on his shoulder, some of it still held back by a brightly colored elastic. A vague, shy memory came back to him: her soft, breathy laugh as she squirmed above him. Strange, but the memory wasn’t so much arousing as it was…sweet. Romantic, almost, even in its incredibly explicit context. There was a sincerity to Jenny that he had never seen paired so definitively with such fierce confidence.

She confused him, and, while still a bit wary of her, he did have to admit that he liked it. Perhaps they wouldn’t be involved in a romantic sense, but he was certainly intrigued by the idea of at least getting to know her a bit better.

Jenny stirred. Hastily, Giles directed his attention out the window. “Did I snore?” she asked blearily.

“Not a bit,” said Giles.

“Damn,” said Jenny, stretching. “I was hoping to at least put you through _some_ hell.” She yawned, fully untied her hair, then turned to Giles. “Hey, we should get our story straight before we land, shouldn’t we?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You know,” said Jenny, waving a hand, “how we met, how we fell in love…”

“Oh!” Giles hesitated, then smiled a little. “We were sweethearts,” he said. “You were a-an American tourist who met me in the British Museum—”

Jenny looked a little annoyed. “I’m not a British Museum kind of girl,” she said. “Knowledge under glass really isn’t my thing.”

Giles’s smile slipped and slid. “I was curator there for nearly ten years,” he said stiffly, half-expecting an apology, and was therefore surprised when Jenny simply gave him a challenging smile in return. “I think it’s reasonable,” he continued, “to say we met there.”

Jenny shook her head. “I frequent raves,” she said. “Parties. Lots of loud things where you can feel the music in your bones.”

“Oh,” said Giles, his mouth twisting; he knew _exactly_ the kind of music Jenny was talking about, and didn’t care to think about that time of his life.

Jenny seemed to misinterpret his expression. “What, too loose and wild for you?” she asked archly, not quite angry, but closer to defensive than she’d been before. “It’s where we’d meet. You were dragged there by an overexcitable colleague, I saw you hanging by the bar looking cute and uncomfortable—”

“It isn’t a story befitting of two professionals,” said Giles stiffly. The truth was that he didn’t want _any_ event in his life, even a falsified version of one, to mirror too closely the sort of activities he had pursued in college, but…that was something he didn’t at _all_ like the idea of telling Jenny. It felt much easier to pretend he was an old-fashioned stick-in-the-mud. “I much prefer my version.”

“Your version sounds like something scooped directly out of a romantic comedy,” Jenny countered. “We need something that’s _uncomfortable,_ because then it’s _believable—”_

“Be that as it may, I am _not_ telling people that I met my wife at a rave!” Giles said a bit too loudly. A few of the passengers were now looking at them both with disapproving frowns; he realized belatedly that these were almost definitely the people who had stood behind him when he snagged Jenny a first-class seat. Lowering his voice, he added, “Perhaps there is some sort of—reasonable compromise—”

“I met you at an orgy,” said Jenny without skipping a beat.

“You’re going in the _exact_ wrong direction,” said Giles, irritated.

“Your direction assumes that the only valid kinds of love are the kinds of love stumbled upon in an incredibly romantic fashion!” Jenny retorted, cheeks flushed. “If I ever marry someone—no, you know what, I _did_ marry someone, I married _you,_ and it isn’t even _close_ to an appropriate story to tell at a faculty meeting!”

“We aren’t in love,” said Giles coolly, “so there’s no worth in that story at any rate.”

“We had some _incredible_ sex,” Jenny countered.

“Sex isn’t love.”

“Sex still means _connection,_ ” said Jenny sharply, “and there’s _definitely_ a connection between us!”

She said this so loudly and so angrily that it came off as almost ludicrous in its irony. Before he could stop himself, Giles laughed, which was a horrible mistake: Jenny’s eyes narrowed to slits and she jerked herself away from him. “Jenny,” he said, biting his lip to keep from grinning, “do be reasonable—”

“You are the _last_ person on this earth that I would want to be married to!” shouted Jenny, which wiped the smile off of Giles’s face. “You’re austere, you’re old-fashioned, you think love always has to be poetic and picturesque—”

“Better that than having a _complete_ disregard for respectability and tradition,” Giles shot back, “not to mention an all but cruel dismissal of my chosen vocation!”

“Oh my god,” said Jenny. “Oh my _god._ I _never_ said _anything_ was wrong with working at the British Museum—”

“You said that the British Museum _wasn’t really your thing._ ”

“That isn’t, like, a _personal slight_ against you, you idiot!”

“Oh, and calling me an idiot isn’t any kind of personal slight?”

“If you two would please KEEP IT DOWN,” snapped a woman two rows in front of them, “this is an _enclosed space!”_

“Shut up!” retorted Jenny, at exactly the same time Giles called, “Sod off!” For some reason, this only increased the tension between them, and they turned to glare at each other again.

“I can’t do this,” said Jenny finally. “This was a terrible idea. Look, you’re cute, and you’re damn good at sex, but we’re farther from compatible than I even believed possible. Honestly, I’d rather lose my job than spend any more time with you than I have to.”

“The feeling is utterly mutual,” said Giles thinly. His warm feelings for Jenny had dissipated as soon as she’d called him the last person on earth she’d want to marry. “I’ll use some of my contacts from England to get the marriage annulled as soon as we’re in Sunnydale.”

Strange, but the concept of failing the Council didn’t seem quite so daunting anymore, not _now_ when he was so bloody livid with Jenny that he couldn’t even think straight. Gritting his teeth, Giles directed his gaze out the window, staring at a cloud with such fury that he felt as though it should dissipate on the spot.

* * *

 

Upon exiting the terminal, they were shocked to be met with a small, dreary-looking gaggle of teachers, all of them looking thoroughly unenthused about being there and thoroughly disinterested in both Giles and Jenny. At the head of this group was a short, bouncy-looking man wearing a secondhand suit, who hurried forward to shake first Giles’s hand, then Jenny’s. “Rupert Giles and Jenny Calendar!” he said, sounding utterly delighted, and then caught sight of their matching wedding rings. _“Well!_ We all made a little party of the fact that two of our newest teachers were on the same connecting flight, but it seems we’ve found the reason for that!”

Over his head, Giles and Jenny exchanged a truly horrified look.

“It isn’t regular,” said the man who, Giles now realized, could be no one but Principal Flutie, “for us to come out and greet teachers, I know, but we were having a faculty meeting today anyway, and this town is small enough that we can drive to the airport, no trouble, so I thought I’d give the staff a breath of fresh air. You two never mentioned that you were married!”

“Well,” Giles began awkwardly.

“We didn’t want you to hire both of us just because of it,” said Jenny, smiling at Principal Flutie as she stepped on Giles’s foot. “It didn’t seem fair. If there were more qualified teachers—”

“The world could use working couples like you!” said Principal Flutie jovially.

“Yep,” said Jenny, who was giving Principal Flutie a smile that looked almost pained in its effort to seem natural. “Listen, uh, can I talk to my—” she made an exaggerated gagging noise, then said innocently, “—husband? Sorry,” she added, giving Giles a pointedly spiteful look, “some leftover travel sickness.”

“Oh, don’t let us intrude!” said Principal Flutie earnestly. “We only stopped by to say hello. We’ll probably all be going our separate ways.” He gave them a small wave, then hurried over to confer with the rest of the teachers.

Giles and Jenny just stood there for what were almost certainly the most terrible twenty seconds of Giles’s life. Then Jenny said, “So.”

“You know,” said Giles, “you could have _asked_ before just—going ahead with that idiotic plan.”

“It was _your plan,_ ” said Jenny through her teeth, “ _you came up with it!”_

“Doesn’t make it a good one,” said Giles, mostly just to annoy her.

“I hate you,” said Jenny. “I seriously fucking hate you—” Principal Flutie turned to wave one last time as he ushered the teachers away, and Jenny hastily grabbed the front of Giles’s shirt, pulling him into an unexpected and frustratingly talented kiss.

 _Damn_ the woman. Giles had hoped that their chemistry would have vanished with his warmth towards her, but it very clearly had not. Before he could get too lost in the kiss, he gripped her waist and turned, his back to Principal Flutie, and then pulled back to hiss, “ _Give me some bloody warning before you do that—_ ”

“I’m your _wife,_ ” said Jenny, whacking his chest to make him back away. “Public displays of affection are gonna have to be a must, because it’s pretty much the _only_ thing that makes us look even _slightly_ compatible now that I, you know, actually know you as a person.”

“I loathe you,” Giles informed her.

“Good,” said Jenny. “That at least means we’ve got one thing in common.”


	3. the new house

Giles called the Council from a pay phone after they’d acquired their luggage. “My wife and I will be requiring a bit of a larger place,” he informed them, doing his best not to pay attention to the way Jenny mouthed _who are you talking to_ and then glared when he didn’t answer. Well, sod her—just because he was her husband from a legal standpoint didn’t mean he had to answer _any_ of her questions.

“ _Your wife?”_ Travers echoed, sounding doubtful, as though he found it hard to believe that anyone would marry Giles at all. _“I wasn’t aware you were married.”_

“Yes, well, it’s a bit of a recent thing,” said Giles awkwardly. “Met her at—” He _meant_ to say _at the British Museum,_ just to spite Jenny, but his mind suddenly went to the heated kiss they had shared at the terminal and what came out instead was, “at the airport a year back.” Startled, he fumbled to continue. “I-I was on that intelligence mission you sent me, and we ended up spending a good chunk of time together. Bit of a missed connection. We happened to be laid over in Las Vegas and—thought we’d be a bit spontaneous.”

Jenny looked genuinely surprised by his lie, though still a little annoyed. “If it were _me,_ ” she said quietly, “I’d have gone with the rave.”

“And aren’t we all glad you didn’t,” Giles said, giving her a saccharine smile. She flipped him off.

“ _And how is it that you have never mentioned this woman until now?”_ Travers sounded as though he was almost hoping to find some flaw in Giles’s story, which made Giles’s smile tighten and his chest hurt. Certainly he wasn’t a _model_ Council member, but he had hoped that this assignment meant that Travers was finally beginning to trust him.

“I didn’t see how it was relevant to my assignment,” said Giles simply.

 _“You didn’t see—_ ” There was a small, almost startled laugh, and then Travers said, _“I may have misjudged you, then, Rupert.”_

“Misjudged me?” Giles echoed.

 _“Prioritizing your mission over the woman you love,”_ said Travers, _“is exactly the sort of behavior that the Council rewards.”_

“Who are you _talking to,”_ said Jenny irritably. Giles, feeling strangely empty at Travers’s words, didn’t answer.

 _“I shall call you with your new address in about thirty minutes,”_ said Travers. _“Oh, and by the by—do give your new Mrs. Giles my congratulations.”_

Giles decided not to bother telling Travers that Jenny was absolutely the sort of woman who would keep her own name. “I will,” he said, and hung up, turning back to Jenny. “My overseas contact is to secure us a house that will suit both of our needs,” he said stiffly, still feeling somewhat unsettled by the way Travers had phrased what was clearly meant as a compliment. Putting the mission over Jenny—he didn’t like the fact that, in the eyes of the Council, he had signed up someone he loved for a life where she would always be second priority, and he deserved _praise_ for it. It felt horrible to know that _that_ was what was expected of a Watcher.

“Your  _overseas contact,_ ” Jenny mimicked, scoffing. “If there’s a _more_ stuck-up way to say it, I’m sure you’ll figure one out.”

Distracted from his sadness, Giles scowled at her. “You know, you _could_ at least appreciate my ability to make the best of a truly horrible situation,” he said. “You won’t have to live in that seedy little apartment you were complaining about—” Jenny blushed. “What _now,_ ” he said, exasperated.

“I just, um, didn’t realize you’d listened,” said Jenny. “Or even factored it into getting a house for both of us.”

“Yes, well, I can be full of surprises,” said Giles simply. Things between them seemed to be slowly edging back into more optimistically civil territory, and he didn’t wish to jeopardize their tentative peace. “Are you ready to go?”

“I actually parked my car in the airport parking lot,” said Jenny, standing up from the bench and tugging at her wheeled suitcase. Giles’s luggage had already been sent ahead months before, but Jenny’s apparently had not. “I had to drive most of my stuff down here last week—this was just a last trip to wrap up a few loose ends back home.” She swallowed, hard. “Back—where I lived—before,” she said, “I guess, because this is _home_ now,” and then she let out a bitter laugh and tipped her head back, looking up at the sky.

Stuck with a frustrating impulse to try and comfort her, Giles picked up Jenny’s other suitcase instead, handing it to her. Knowing Jenny and her obvious annoyance with his more sentimental nature, any attempt of his to help would surely be rebuffed. “If you’d walk to the parking lot and get your car ready, I’ll catch up,” he said. “I still have to get the address.”

Much too late, he realized that trying to comfort Jenny might have been a better idea than ignoring her visible sadness. Jenny gave him a startled, hurt look, then said, “Yeah, sure, okay,” and turned on her heel, hurrying towards the parking lot. For all the purpose in her stride, she still seemed rather sad and forlorn.

The phone rang again. Travers with the address, most likely. Not quite able to look away from Jenny, Giles had to wait until she was entirely out of view to pick up the receiver. “Yes?” he said. “Yes—all right—” and took out a pen and scrap of paper from his pocket, haphazardly scribbling down the address. “My belongings will be sent there instead? Yes. Brilliant. Oh—would you mind taking care of my wife’s things as well? Yes—yes, I’m sure you can find the address. Yes. Thank you.” He replaced the receiver, then pocketed the address and pen, hurrying down the sidewalk and towards the airport parking lot.

Rounding the corner of a building to enter the parking lot, he heard something. It took him a moment to discern what it was, but upon noticing a beat-up, robin’s-egg-blue VW Bug, he then saw Jenny. She was leaning against the car, its trunk open and poorly stuffed with too many suitcases, and she was crying, halting and uncomfortable, as though not quite used to tears.

Giles stared, feeling an almost painful sympathy. She certainly wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, but this was an incredibly stressful situation that they had found themselves in. He hurried towards her, and she looked up, tired and ashamed. “The suitcases won’t all fit,” she said. “They _won’t_ fit. I brought over too much stuff, I forgot that—that I still had stuff in the back of my trunk, I thought I’d _unpacked_ my stuff at my apartment but I _forgot_ some of it _—_ ”

“I’ll make them fit, then,” said Giles gently.

“You  _can’t,_ ” said Jenny. “Not without blocking the backseat.”

“Is that what you were crying about?”

Jenny’s face closed off. “If you can fix it, fix it,” she said, pressing the car keys into Giles’s hand, and hurried around the car to unlock the door and get in on the driver’s side.

Giles turned to the suitcases, looked at them more critically, took out the two he remembered from the plane, and shut the trunk, locking it with the keys Jenny had given him. He placed the larger suitcase in the backseat (both of them together would have blocked Jenny’s rearview mirror, but not just the one), then opened the passenger-side door, stowed the smaller suitcase where his feet would be, and clambered in with some difficulty, handing the car keys to a wide-eyed Jenny. “Most things,” he said, “require a critical eye and a clear head. Thankfully, I am in possession of both.”

“Oh, god, you’re gonna be all cocky about this, aren’t you,” muttered Jenny as she started the car, but a small smile stole across her face.

* * *

Their house was smaller than Giles had anticipated. He’d been hoping for something with two bedrooms, a place that would allow for him to keep a respectable distance from Jenny without awkwardness, but this place possessed a small living room and kitchenette, a single bedroom, a bathroom, and nothing else.

“How on earth,” said Giles weakly, looking at the bedroom (one that, under better circumstances, he might have called _cozy_ ), “are we supposed to function in a space this small without biting each other’s heads off?”

“Well, I’m not taking the couch,” said Jenny flatly.

Giles turned to stare at her. “You aren’t serious,” he said finally. “We don’t know how long we’re to be living together—”

“—which is why there is no way in _hell_ I’m taking the couch,” Jenny countered. “This is my house too, you know, and I deserve a bed—”

“Weren’t you the one who brought up the absence of marital pleasures in this situation?” Giles huffed, more bothered by the thought of Jenny in _his_ bed than _Jenny_ in his bed. It was a nice bed, with lovely sheets, and he did not at all appreciate the concept of having to sleep on his own couch for an uncertain length of time.

“I said marital _privileges,_ Rupert, though that’s some interesting selective hearing you’re doing there,” said Jenny, grinning smugly when he blushed, “and you’re being a complete child about this. Sleep wherever you want. All I care is that I get half the bed.”

Giles didn’t at all like this idea. “I steal all the blankets in my sleep,” he said finally, wishing he could come up with something that didn’t sound like he was a resentful twelve-year-old.

“You don’t, though,” said Jenny, smiling innocently. “Last I recall, I woke up with more blankets than I could handle.” Unexpectedly, she stood on tiptoe, dropping a quick, pointed kiss to his mouth. Giles was yet again left speechless with a mixture of attraction and frustration. “You should get started on making the bed,” she added, moving around him and towards the half-unpacked living room. “Oh, and thank your overseas contact for me! They did a pretty good job of setting the heavy stuff up for us, and I did _not_ want to have to bring my old couch down all those flights of stairs back at my old place.”

Slowly, Giles raised his hand to his mouth. “That _no marital privileges_ thing goes both ways, you know!” he called, frustrated.

“I agree,” he heard Jenny call back from the living room. “Thing is, though, Rupert, every time we kiss, you look like you want to kill me when I pull away, and that won’t look very convincing if we’re husband and wife, will it? We have to practice being good at the whole casual-intimacy thing.”  

“So what you’re telling me is—you’re to _accost_ me with kisses until I get used to being surprised?”

In answer, Jenny turned, half done opening one of the boxes, and beckoned. Giles didn’t move. “Come _here,”_ Jenny said. “We need to get honestly better at being comfortable with each other, at least for appearances.”

“Are you going to kiss me?” said Giles warily.

“You know, you were _very_ okay with that concept when we first met,” said Jenny, crossing her arms and smiling innocently up at him. When he still didn’t move towards her, she amended, “I’m not gonna kiss you _now,_ you’ll be expecting it.”

“Brilliant,” said Giles, and took a cautious step into the living room. “I’ll just always be on red bloody alert inside my own home, then, shall I?”

“God, you’re dramatic,” said Jenny. “Help me with these plates.” As Giles walked up to oblige, Jenny finished opening the box she’d been working at, pulling out a set of the most horrible dinner plates Giles had ever seen.

“No,” he said.

“Oh, come on—”

“No,” said Giles. “This is the last straw. They are intolerably neon, they are _plastic,_ and this is _my house._ ”

“You can’t break out the fine china for microwave meals,” scoffed Jenny. “Is your china even microwavable?”

“What?” said Giles, then, “I _cook_ my own food.”

“Well, I don’t,” said Jenny, “I make myself microwave meals, I order in, and I grab a pastry on the way to work.”

“My _wife,_ ” said Giles, “would be cooked for.”

To his surprise, Jenny smiled a little. “Not the other way around?” she said.

“Not unless she’d like to, no,” said Giles, “and I myself have something of a penchant for cooking, so I expect this arrangement will work out splendidly.”

“What if I still want my microwave meals?” challenged Jenny.

“Are you _trying_ to make things difficult?”

“Is my having an opinion _difficult_ for you?”

“It is when your opinion is _wrong_ —”

“Neon plates or microwave meals, Rupert,” said Jenny, in a way that made it clear she considered this an olive branch he didn’t deserve. “Take your pick.”

Giles considered this, then he said, “I want to open a different box.”

“You can’t avoid this argument—”

“I can bloody well try, can’t I? Let’s open a different box.”

“Suit yourself,” said Jenny, giving him a wicked grin, and placed the box of lurid dishware to the side, bending to open the next one. It only took her a few seconds to pull out a bright green lava lamp, five strings of fairy lights, and a large desktop computer.

“You are _deliberately_ trying to provoke me, aren’t you?”

“Oh, completely,” said Jenny. “Most of this is just junk my friends gave me.”

“The computer as well, I hope?”

Jenny’s little smile vanished. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s a rather expensive fad to waste money on, that’s all,” said Giles lightly.

Jenny cocked her head, her eyes glittering dangerously. “You know I teach computer science, don’t you?” she said slowly.

Giles frowned. He did distantly remember her mentioning it once before, but it had been wrapped up in the panic of the accidental marriage, and as such, it had been easy to forget. “I suppose it slipped my mind,” he said carefully.

“So you think computers are a fad?” said Jenny, sounding less playful in her combativeness. “That’s your genuine, honest thought?”

“Oh, and I suppose you think computers are utterly necessary to replace a time-honored source of knowledge that’s never had any problems to begin with,” Giles huffed, annoyed. “Which is to say, Jenny, that the written word holds _much_ more inherent value than a passionless collection of circuitry held together in a metal box.”

“Okay, first of all, do you even know how computers _work?”_

“Why would I busy myself learning something that’ll be obsolete within the decade?” Giles retorted, embarrassed. “Isn’t that the pride of the industry—that everything is moving as fast as it can go? I for one think there is value to be found in the slower path, where there is more _time_ to dwell on the knowledge, more _effort_ in searching it out—”

Jenny laughed, a furious sound. “Time and effort!” she echoed. “As though that’s something exclusive to only books! Computers are _evolving,_ Rupert, they’re _growing,_ they’re creating new ways to communicate knowledge, and that kind of evolution takes just as much time and effort and _understanding_ as books—more, even. All you have to do with a book is take it off a shelf and flip through it. Books aren’t just limited to the upper class anymore, you know, if you want to start talking about how computers are _beneath_ you.”

“I never said—”

“ _Why would I busy myself learning something that’ll be obsolete within the decade?”_ Jenny mimicked, her cheeks a furious red. He had thought their argument on the plane as bad as conflict between them could be, but this—this was reaching new heights. “You’re a snob, Rupert. You put your knowledge up on a pedestal and you talk down anything that doesn’t live up to your _lofty_ expectations.”

“I am _no such thing,_ ” Giles snapped, furious. “I simply don’t adhere to a knee-jerk assumption that because something is new, it’s better!”

Jenny stared at him, shaking, and then she turned in a whirl of floral skirt and stormed outside, slamming the door behind her as hard as she could. Giles stood for a moment, stunned, but the pent-up well of anger in him had not yet run dry; he followed her, yanking the door open. “If you had your way,” he shouted, “every bloody thing in the world would be digitized, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, and that’s so much better than relying on hard copies?” Jenny shouted back over her shoulder.

“Individuality,” Giles informed her furiously, “ _physicality_ of knowledge, that’s something that computers can _never_ replace—”

“Maybe you should start considering that those things don’t hold as much value as knowledge itself!” Jenny had been halfway down the porch steps, but she turned, hurrying back up to jab a finger into his chest. “If you could let go of the notion that people have to learn things _exactly one way—_ ”

“I’m sleeping on the couch,” said Giles loudly.

“Fine!” Jenny shouted. “I don’t care! More space for me, I guess, if you’re going to be a _baby_ about it!”

“And I suppose you’re handling things like a proper adult, then?” yelled Giles.

“At least I’m not upset because my wife has the _audacity_ to microwave her food on plastic plates!” Jenny snapped.

“You act like it’s such a killing blow for me to want _some_ semblance of respectability in my _own home_ ,” Giles scoffed.

“Oh, of course, because nothing’s more _respectable_ than telling me my _career choice_ is a _passing fad!_ ” Jenny shoved past him, striding into the house and beginning to unpack. “I live here _too,_ Rupert,” she added, looking up at him with flashing eyes. “Get _used_ to it.”

Quite literally shaking with rage, Giles shut the door; he didn’t think he could be in the same room as her without continuing their fight. He stared at the closed door, then realized with a twist of his stomach that he didn’t actually have anywhere else to go.

“Damn it all to hell,” he muttered, and opened the door again. Perhaps things would improve once they got more accustomed to each other.

* * *

 

Things didn’t improve. Things actually got impressively worse over the course of the next few days, wherein they had seven to ten furious arguments about what would stay in the house and what they didn’t have enough space for. Giles put up a fairly valiant fight in an attempt to get Jenny to re-box the computer (“you’ll have one at school, won’t you?”) to which Jenny responded furiously that she _needed_ a home computer, did he want her staying _late_ and becoming a Sunnydale fatality? And then Giles said out of irritation that if she died he would at least get to box up the computer, which, of course, led to her locking him out of the house for three hours until he apologized and said he didn’t want her dead—obviously he didn’t want her _dead,_ she should _know that,_ but he didn’t like conceding that she’d been _right_.

By the time of the last faculty meeting before school started (and the first one they would be attending together), both of them were  _incredibly_ tense. For Giles, it wasn’t just that he was worried that they wouldn’t look convincingly in love, but also because the couch was _hell_ on his back, and it certainly wasn’t helping to see Jenny look so well-rested and so damn _smug_ about it.

“You know,” she said as they were heading out the door, “it’s your own choice, sleeping out there. I already said I was fine with us sharing a bed.”

“Yes, well, you said that _before_ I expressed my disdain for your chosen vocation,” said Giles stiffly, rubbing his neck. “And as neither of our views have changed—”

“You don’t even have a game plan for how long we should stay married,” said Jenny pointedly, locking the door behind them. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to sleep on the couch indefinitely, especially at your age.”

“At _my—_ ”

“Though I guess the whole slavish-devotion-to-the-written-word thing does make you come off as a good fifty years older than you actually are?” said Jenny, first tapping her finger against her chin and then hurrying past an indignant Giles to unlock her car.

“Oh no,” said Giles. “We are taking _my_ car this time.”

“Absolutely not,” said Jenny. “Your car is held together by rust and inefficiency—”

“—that’s a bit of an oxymoron, isn’t it, something being _held together_ by _inefficiency—_ ”

“Save it, Wordsworth, you know what I’m getting at,” snapped Jenny, but her cheeks were flushed in that way she got whenever Giles made a good point.

Sensing that they would be late to the faculty meeting if they continued in this vein, Giles conceded. “Fine,” he said, comforting himself with the thought that he might be able to try and re-box the neon plates when they got home (and thereby start another argument that he _would_ win). “But don’t expect me to agree every time—”

Jenny laughed incredulously. “As if you ever have!” she scoffed, and got into the car. Giles followed suit.

This time around, she turned on the car radio to a truly atrocious station that grated at his nerves. He tried to change the dial, she swatted his hand away, and he said, exasperated, “Jenny, _really,_ we are driving in _your car._ Would it kill you to make _one_ compromise?”

“Yes, hubby, it really would,” said Jenny, looking up at him with guileless eyes, “especially when it’s for your sake.”

“Don’t call me that,” said Giles.

“What’s that, love muffin?” Jenny shouted, turning the dial up to a _terrible_ level. “Did you say ‘call me that all the time, Jenny?’ I’m so sorry, I can’t hear a _word_ you’re saying.”

Giles opened the window and contemplated just throwing himself into the Hellmouth.

* * *

 

Sunnydale High was a drab-looking building, in Giles’s opinion, though this might be because he was accustomed to the much lovelier architecture of England. Jenny, however, lit up at the grassy front lawn, and immediately grabbed Giles’s hand, tugging him up the stairs and happily ignoring his attempts to pull free. “Stop that,” she said, not even bothering to look at him, “we are a _couple_ and you have to get used to it.”

“If I were in love with a woman,” said Giles, “I would be  _much_ more discreet about my relationship with her, and I certainly would _not_ be amorous with her in my _place of work._ ”

“How romantic,” said Jenny dryly. “No wonder I married you.”

They rounded the corner to a room marked _Computer Lab,_ at which point Jenny let out a delighted laugh and pulled Giles through the door. “Oh, _please_ don’t,” he began, but she was already letting go of his hand to weave through the computers, stop at the front of the class, rummage in her bag, and place a nameplate down on the teacher’s desk, turning to face him.

“I can just live here,” she said happily. “You take the bed, I’ll stay here tonight.”

“Are you serious?”

Jenny rolled her eyes a little, but her smile didn’t waver. “Look _around,_ ” she said. “This is—I’m in my _element._ ”

“Is this really anyone’s element?” said Giles a bit doubtfully.

“Obviously not yours,” said Jenny, looking amused.

“No, I suppose not,” said Giles, squinting at the nearest computer and attempting to discern what about it might bring such a bright smile to Jenny’s face. It didn’t seem worthy of that kind of brilliant, animated delight, he thought, looking surreptitiously up at Jenny (who was now happily arranging the contents of her large bag on her new desk) and the way her eyes sparkled. He couldn’t _possibly_ understand how she could devote herself to such emotionless technology with such passionate energy.

“Rupert,” said Jenny, who was still grinning furiously. “You’re staring.”

“It just doesn’t make _sense,_ ” Giles said helplessly, unable to convey the surprising, almost frightening feeling in his chest. “There are other— _better—_ things that you could be doing.”

Jenny’s smile faded and she pressed her lips together. “You know,” she said, “I could say the same thing about you.”

Realizing he’d been misinterpreted, Giles winced. “I—”

“I’m sure you meant that completely innocuously,” said Jenny, looking back up at him with a resigned frustration. “It’s just…the _possibility_ here is overwhelming, you know? Books…they’re finite. There’s a beginning and an end, and you know that from the moment you pick one up. But computers have the potential to hold…anything. Everything. A thousand and one books could fit on a floppy disk someday.”

“I find _that_ hard to believe,” said Giles, who was furiously wrestling down some unexpected and unwelcome thoughts about Jenny. She was a terrible person who liked terrible music and owned terrible plates and he would rather be married to a _fungus demon_ than her, thank you very much, and—he was lonely, that was all. Lonely and a bit confused, and she just happened to be there, so it made sense that a few emotional wires would get crossed—

“…and the functionality of—are you even listening to me?” Jenny skirted the desk, tugging at his sleeve with an irritated expression. “You know what?” she said. “Let’s go check out the library so you can be a nerd and I can tune _you_ out.”

“I highly doubt that a high school library will fill me with quite as much joy as you and your computer lab,” said Giles, grateful for the opportunity to be annoyed with Jenny again. Thankfully, nine times out of ten, everything she said inspired a passionate frustration in him. “Besides which, we _do_ have a faculty meeting to attend.”

“Ugh,” said Jenny, and extended her hand to him. After a moment of startled apprehension, Giles took it. “Okay,” she said. “Game plan. We’re going to be all cute-newlyweds, hopefully have Flutie call us out for holding hands, maybe I’ll lean on you a little or something—”

 _“Professionalism,_ ” said Giles, “is _tantamount_ in a workplace environment. No one would believe that a respectable gentleman such as myself would be so—so _blatant_ in his affections.”

“But they’d believe a hussy like me, is that it?”

“I didn’t say that,” said Giles, then, “directly.”

Jenny hit him with a nearby printout.

“I wouldn’t recommend doing that in the meeting, Ms. Calendar,” said Giles a bit smugly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Jenny, eyes glinting dangerously, and kissed the soft spot under his jaw. The action took Giles by surprise, enough that he couldn’t suppress a stuttering gasp. “Maybe they’ll just think we have a _very_ active sex life.” Before Giles had completely processed what she’d said, she was letting go of his hand and hurrying ahead. “Keep up!” she called over her shoulder, looking _terribly_ self-satisfied.

Giles touched the place where he felt certain her lipstick had smudged, and his fingers came back the same color as Jenny’s lips. With a resigned sigh, he followed her out of the classroom and down the hall, into a small, poorly furnished faculty room jam-packed with teachers.

“Come _on,_ ” said Jenny impatiently, tucking her arm into his and pulling him all the way into the room. A few of the teachers gave them appraising looks, but she ignored these, focusing instead on towing Giles over to Principal Flutie. “I hope we’re not late?” she asked earnestly.

“Actually, you’re just in time!” Principal Flutie beamed. “I was just about to bring up the digitization initiative that Ms. Calendar contacted me about.”

“Digitization?” Giles repeated uneasily.

“Didn’t your wife tell you?” Principal Flutie sounded surprised.

Giles had no idea what digitization was, but he _did_ recognize that it was something that might reveal their status as a a not-really-married twosome of mutual dislike. “Oh, yes, yes, digitization,” he said immediately, nodding rapidly and trying to look convincingly knowledgeable. Why was Jenny smiling like the cat that ate the canary? “Yes, I—I completely support her digitization initiative. Extremely innovative. I’m incredibly proud.”

“Excellent!” Principal Flutie clapped his hands together. “You’ll of course have to coordinate with Ms. Calendar with regards to when she can bring her classes in to scan your books—”

“I’m sorry?”

“You know, Rupert,” said Jenny, grinning hugely, “your entire library collection? I’ll be scanning it into my computers. During the school day, of course—I thought it’d make a nice lesson for my beginning classes.”

Giles looked at Jenny, looked at Principal Flutie, let out an uncomfortable laugh, and said, “My dearest darling, might we talk outside for a moment?”

“Honey, if this is anything about my project, you can say it in front of Principal Flutie too!” said Jenny airily. There was an _infuriating_ smugness in her eyes. “After all, he’s the one who _approved_ it. It’s pretty much going to happen whether you like it or not!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that—”

“What, that you don’t like it?”

“No,” said Giles, gritting his teeth in a smile, “that it’s _going to happen whether I like it or not._ ”

“Okay!” said Principal Flutie, beaming uncomfortably, and then hurried off to chat with the physics teacher.

“I’m going to kill you,” said Jenny.

 _“Me!”_ Giles was outraged. “What about _you?_ Springing this on me in a _faculty meeting_ where you _knew_ I couldn’t say no—”

“Maybe if you knew what _digitizing_ meant, you wouldn’t have looked like such an idiot!”

“Only an idiot busies themselves with learning terminology that’ll undoubtedly be obsolete in the next decade—”

A few of the math teachers glanced over at them. Jenny and Giles immediately attempted to look in love, which mostly meant they attempted to stop looking like they wanted to murder each other. It didn’t really work. “You’re _not_ the boss of me,” Jenny said through her feigned smile, “and digitizing the library catalog is _important_ when teaching my students the value of computers.”

“Indoctrination into reliance on a metal box, more like,” countered Giles, tapping her nose and smiling back. He was fairly certain that the math teachers, at least, were still watching.

“Do you realize how ridiculous you sound?” Jenny stepped closer, running her hand down his arm to tug semi-aggressively at his sleeve. “Next you’ll start saying that electricity is a passing fad.”

“Electricity, Jenny, has a _function,_ ” said Giles, “and I don’t at all think I would like to live in a world where computers are as vital to society as electricity. Distancing, impersonal, and utterly disconnecting—that’s what you’re advocating for, you know…”

Jenny gave the watching teachers a subtle glance, then placed his hands on her waist, twining her arms around his neck. Giles completely lost his train of thought. “You talk a lot about disconnection,” she said, “but how are books any better than that? It’s connection with _ideas_ that matters with books. Same as computers. You’re looking at computers critically just because they aren’t always easy to understand, and that’s not fair at all.”

“Wh-what?” Giles managed.

Jenny frowned quizzically, but just as she was opening her mouth, Principal Flutie called from at the front of the room. “All right! Looks like everyone’s here, so I think it’s time to start talking plans for making this year a big success!”

“Oh, thank god,” said Giles. Jenny rolled her eyes and stepped away from him, and he once again remembered _why_ he was so mad at her. “You could have at least _asked,_ ” he whispered, “before _commandeering_ my library.”

“When, while we were arguing about plates or while you were sleeping on the couch?” Jenny inquired coolly. “It’s not exactly like we’ve had a lot of time between arguments to, you know, _actually talk._ ”

“—and if you haven’t met them,” Principal Flutie was saying up front, “let me just introduce them again: our newest staff members and our _first_ married couple, Mr. Giles and Ms. Calendar!”

“Oh, yes, we’re very really married,” said Giles immediately. “One hundred percent in love with this woman.”

Jenny buried her face in her hands.


	4. the vampire slayer

The first day of school might not have gone as abysmally as it did had Giles not attempted to re-box the computer again while Jenny was asleep. He’d meant it as a Pointed Gesture regarding an argument they’d had the previous night, one about him not having a desk of his own (his words), and how he could _get_ a desk of his own if he wanted one so badly (her words), and how he _did_ have a desk, it was the desk her computer was on, and she shouldn’t be taking up _his desk_ with her computer that he had _never seen her use,_ and then this had transitioned into an argument about how if he didn’t sleep on the  _couch_ all the time, maybe he’d be seeing her use the computer more than he did, and Are You Trying to Seduce Me, Jenny, and NO I AM NOT, and then she’d brought out all the neon plates for dinner just to spite him.

Regardless. The point was that Giles attempted to re-box the computer, Jenny woke up, and they had a _screaming_ argument at two in the morning about boundaries that led to neither of them getting any sleep for the first day of school. This did, however, have the unexpected benefit of both of them being too tired to argue in the morning, and that was definitely a plus.

But then Jenny started demanding to sleep in his office during her free period.

“Absolutely _not,_ ” said Giles, “I am going to be getting _no sleep_ for this _entire day,_ and it is wholly unfair that you expect privileges I cannot have.”

“Rupert,” said Jenny. “This is your fault. We are both exhausted because you tried to steal my computer.”

“Stealing,” said Giles with more dignity than he probably deserved, “implies that I re-boxed your computer with intent to utilize its monetary value. I didn’t. I was attempting to utilize my _desk._ ”

“It’s not your desk if it’s not in your room—”

“It _is_ my desk and it _is_ my room, Jenny—”

“You haven’t slept in our bed since we got here!”

“Please stop calling it _our bed,_ it’s disturbing,” said Giles, who was beginning to wonder if day drinking on a high school campus would be worth potentially losing his job over. As Jenny opened her mouth, “Yes, I know, we’re married, but that still doesn’t mean—”

“What it _doesn’t_ mean,” said Jenny, “is that you can _justify_ trying to remove _my stuff_ from where I put it, _without asking_ —”

The library doors swung open. “Let me just handle this,” said Giles.

“Cool!” said Jenny cheerfully, shoved him out of the office, and locked the door.

It took Giles a moment to realize what she had done. “Jenny?” he called, saw her beginning to settle herself for a nap in his office chair, and began to bang on the door. “JENNY CALENDAR,” he shouted, “I SWEAR ON SEVEN GENERATIONS OF GILESES THAT YOU WILL NOT GET A WINK OF SLEEP, AND IF THAT MEANS I HAVE TO KEEP YOU UP BY YELLING FOR A FULL FREE PERIOD—”

“Um,” said a voice. “Should I come back later?”

Giles turned. A small girl with gently curling blonde hair was looking at him with a vaguely unnerved expression. “No,” he said, by this point quite resigned to the fact that having a wife like Jenny apparently meant making himself look like a complete idiot to everyone in the vicinity. “I’m Mr. Giles. The librarian. New.” It was quite difficult to form words when he was this tired, but he was doing his best.

Behind him, the lock clicked open, and Jenny peered out. “Oh my god, there’s someone here,” she said, sounding utterly amused. “How much of your yelling did she catch?”

“Go take a nap in the bloody office,” said Giles thinly.

“Done,” said Jenny, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek, then stepped back into the office.

Giles tried not to blush. It didn’t work.

“O-kay,” said the girl. “Anyway, I’m new—”

Giles’s heart sank. “Miss Summers,” he said. The universe really did seem to have it out for him at this point. “Apologies for the display,” he added uncomfortably. “My wife was attempting to take a nap in my office, but that’s—against school rules, I think, so I told her no.”

“And then she went ahead and did it anyway?” said Miss Summers. Her mouth twitched.

“You know what?” said Giles. “Let me just—get you what you need.” He hurried behind the counter, and as he bent down, felt a bit solidly better upon seeing the _Vampyr_ book. This, at least, would go sensibly and according to plan. She was a Slayer who had already had a Watcher, a Slayer who already knew her destiny; she, at least, knew the ropes. Lifting the book, he placed it down on the table with a heavy _thud._

To his utter surprise, Miss Summers blanched, taking an almost involuntary step back from the checkout desk. “That’s not what I’m looking for,” she said, slow and uneasy.

Giles blinked, surprised and a bit exhausted. “Are you quite sure?” he said.

“ _Way_ sure,” said Miss Summers, which certainly wasn’t grammatically correct.

God, Giles missed England. “My mistake,” he said tiredly, turning to put the book away. As he finished placing it back on one of the lower shelves, he turned back, asking, “So, what is it you said—”

But Miss Summers had vanished, the library doors swinging shut behind her, and Giles was left with the distinct impression that absolutely nothing in his life was going to go the way he needed it to.

* * *

 

When Miss Summers returned, it was thankfully after Jenny had finally departed to teach class. Giles wasn’t sure _what_ he would have done had his Slayer again witnessed his disaster of a fake marriage and perhaps put two and two together. He wanted to be an authority figure to this girl, someone she would respect and value and _not_ unexpectedly leave the library around, and he couldn’t possibly do that if she knew he had gotten drunk married in Las Vegas. It was true that Giles hadn’t been around teenagers in a while, but he did know enough about them to know that they would undoubtedly find that sort of thing _mercilessly_ funny.

“Okay,” she said, bursting into the library, “what’s the sitch?”

“I’m sorry?” said Giles, confused.

“The dead guy,” said Miss Summers, and then things proceeded to get even _more_ complicated.

* * *

 

Giles left school intending to seek Miss Summers out at the Bronze as soon as possible; he’d heard her talking to someone else about it in passing. Unfortunately for his plans, Jenny was waiting outside the library when class finally wrapped, and he then remembered that they would be driving home together—not only that, but she had finally let him drive _her._ God, she did pick the worst of days to be magnanimous.“Let’s leave,” she said upon seeing him. “I have so much to complain to you about. That’s your husbandly requirement for the day: you have to listen to me complain about the idiot freshman who stuck _gum_ between the keys of his computer, who _does_ that? Not even _you,_ and you’re a total Luddite. Germophobic Luddite, but still—”

“As usual, your presence is a _breath_ of fresh air,” said Giles resignedly, extending his arm. Jenny, unbothered, took it, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Unfortunately, I have—pressing business of my own. I’ll have to drive you home and then head downtown.”

Jenny looked dubious. “You know they found a dead guy in a gym locker today, right?” she said. “This isn’t a good town to have after-dark business in.”

“Be that as it may—”

Jenny’s hand tightened around his arm. “I’m just _saying,_ ” she said. “I don’t think—oh, hi, Willow!”

A small, plaid-wearing girl with long red hair blinked shyly up at the both of them. Her face rang a bell with Giles, who realized that this was the same girl who had stopped in to read a few books during his lunch break. She had been so sweetly enthused at his extensive collection that he hadn’t been able to tell her the library was closed. “Ms. Calendar!” she said, sounding surprised. “And—Mr. Giles!”

“We were just on our way out,” said Jenny, giving Willow a warm smile. “Hey— _amazing_ work in class today. I was blown away.”

“Thanks,” said Willow, blushing and beaming. Then, “Are _you_ two the married couple on staff? Not that it’s any of my business,” she added hastily, “but people were talking about a really fighty couple on staff, and you two _are_ looking all cuddly right there, and oh my gosh why am I still talking?”

“Yeah, that’s us,” said Jenny. “Old world austerity meets new world charm.”

“Thank you, Jenny,” said Giles. “That’s exactly what I needed at the end of the day. Being called austere by my _own wife._ ”

“He’s very dramatic,” said Jenny to Willow, who giggled. “Listen, Willow, he’s talking about going out at night—is that something people usually do in Sunnydale?”

To Giles’s surprise, Willow’s small smile flickered. “The cool people, I guess,” she said, scuffing her sneakers against the linoleum. “I mean, Xander and I try it sometimes, but it’s mostly just—dark. And creepy. Plus my mom set a curfew after that one girl in my Biology class turned up dead last year.”

Jenny gave Giles a very pointed look. “See?” she said. “Willow’s a smart cookie. If you’re not gonna listen to me, at least listen to her.”

“This feels awfully like emotional blackmail,” said Giles. “Willow, it’s lovely to see you again, I hope you’ll stop by the library, I need to take my wife _home_ before she interrogates the entire population in an attempt to—” He stopped, startled, as it finally clicked. “Keep me safe,” he said, his voice softening.

“Took you long enough,” said Jenny, rolling her eyes. “Come on.” Tugging on his arm, she led him past a giggling Willow. “Bye, Willow!” she called over her shoulder.

“Bye, Ms. Calendar!” Willow called back. “You guys are a super cute couple!” She then turned the approximate color of her hair and hid her face behind her open locker door.

“She’s a sweet kid,” said Jenny affectionately. “A little shy, but I really think she’s something special.”

“She’s in your computer class?” said Giles, carefully managing to open the door for Jenny without tugging his arm away from her hand. “She was in the library today.”

“Shockingly, Rupert, computers and books _can_ coexist!” said Jenny, laughing.

“Yes, quite,” said Giles, who was still a bit stuck on the concept of Jenny trying to _protect_ him. “Listen, Jenny—I do completely agree with you with regard to the dangers that surround going out at night, but the fact remains that I do have—business—to attend to.”

“Any chance that I’m gonna get to find out what that business is?” Jenny asked lightly.

“Perhaps not tonight, but—” Giles stopped himself. He hadn’t meant for there to be a _but._ “Perhaps not tonight,” he said again.

To her credit, Jenny seemed to take this in stride. “Okay,” she said. “Honestly, I have some stuff to get done at home anyway. Just try to get home before eleven, all right? It’d be nice not to worry.”

“You’d worry?”

“Maybe a little,” said Jenny, fumbling. “For Willow’s sake, at least. _She_ seems to like you.”

“Oh, of course,” said Giles, grinning. “For Willow’s sake.”

“…shut up.”

* * *

 

He dropped her at their house, and she watched him drive off from the porch. She was impossibly stubborn, foolishly enamored with technological progress, but…he found himself thinking about her, at home, warm on the couch, working on whatever it was she was working on. Not at all domestic, he was sure. Probably unpacking the belongings of hers that he’d hidden in the closet just so she’d shut up about them, or perhaps rearranging the kitchen cupboards again so that her things were in easy reach and his things were all shoved into corner cabinets.

Making trouble. He liked that, and it was _frustrating_ to like it. Giles continued to drive, weaving through what felt like endlessly labyrinthine suburbs until he finally reached the Bronze. By this point, it was nearly sunset, and he was finding himself wishing he’d stayed at home a bit longer to at least have dinner with Jenny—argumentative, certainly, but somehow much livelier a prospect than this overly loud dance club. Reluctantly, he exited the car, following a gaggle of students inside.

This place actually seemed rather like something Jenny would like. Weaving through dancing teenagers ( _teenagers,_ really, in a _bar?)_ , Giles decided that the best thing to do in this case would be to find a higher vantage point. Perhaps he might be able to make out Miss Summers from above the ground.

Part of him was beginning to wish he _had_ brought Jenny. This entire endeavor felt rather pointless, and she might have made it…a bit more lively. They’d be arguing about something or other right about now, had she come along. Maybe she’d want him to dance, and he obviously wouldn’t, and she would persist, with that bright, playful, utterly beautiful smile—

Giles nearly walked into one of the large beams supporting the upper level. Flustered, he hurried up the stairs.

Miss Summers was not visible. No one in this bloody bar looked even slightly familiar to Giles, and he was becoming so impatient to leave it that he wasn’t really looking all that hard anyway. He’d talk to her at school, he decided, there really wasn’t any point in—

“So, you like to party with the students, huh?” came a familiarly perky voice, and Giles, already frustrated enough as it _was,_ turned to face Buffy Summers herself. “Aren’t you a married man?”

“Believe you me, I would _much_ rather be at home with my wife,” said Giles, startled by the truth to his words. “As exasperating as Jenny can be, she certainly isn’t as—as tiresome as this meaningless sound.”

“Gosh, I bet she _swoons_ when you tell her stuff like that,” said Buffy, straight-faced with the air of one delivering a punch line.

“This is a perfect breeding ground for vampire activity,” Giles informed her, attempting to steer the subject solidly away from Jenny. “It's dark, it's crowded...” He trailed off, still frustrated beyond measure. “Besides, I knew you were likely to show up, and I have to make you understand—”

“That the Harvest is coming,” Buffy finished with exasperation. “I know, your friend told me.”

Giles blinked. This wasn’t in the handbook. “What did you say?”

“The Harvest,” said Buffy dismissively. “That mean something to you? 'Cause I'm drawing a blank.”

“I'm not sure,” said Giles, frowning. “W-who told you this?”

“This... guy,” said Buffy, turning a little pink. “Dark, gorgeous in an annoying sort of way. I figured you two were buds.”

“No,” said Giles slowly. The phrase rang a few bells, and none of them were good ones. “The Harvest. Did he say anything else?”

“Something about the Mouth of Hell,” said Buffy, then added for clarity’s sake, “I _really_ didn't like him!” and turned away, looking down at the dancing crowd as the band’s song ended.

“I must research this further,” mumbled Giles to himself. Looking up at Buffy, her back to him, he felt a rush of irritation as he added, “Which I _cannot_ do if the one and only Vampire Slayer is hell-bent on refusing to slay vampires!”

“Hey!” Buffy whirled, glaring. “It’s not like I’m _never_ gonna slay a vampire again! I just don’t feel like getting all extracurricular about it. And I don’t see _you_ out there fighting any!”

“We have _discussed_ this,” said Giles, attempting to keep his voice level and professional, “it is _not_ my—”

“Not your job, yeah, I _figured,_ ” said Buffy, rolling her eyes. “So is your job just telling me how to do mine?”

“Will you be ready?” Giles countered. “There's so much you don't know about them, about your own powers.” Pointedly, and because he felt like reminding her that he _did_ have a job, he added, “A vampire appears to be completely normal until the feed is upon them. Only then do they reveal their true demonic visage.”

Buffy was not appropriately impressed. “You’re like a textbook with arms,” she scoffed. “I _know_ this!”

“The _point,”_ said Giles thinly, “is that you should be able to _tell_ if a vampire is in this building. Immediately. Without looking, without thinking.”

“I mean,” said Buffy, looking somewhat pouty, “I _could_ do that. If I wanted to.”

“Fine,” said Giles. “Excellent. Do it right now. Tell me if there’s a vampire here.” As Miss Summers turned her attention back to the crowd, he continued, “Reach out with your mind, utilize all your senses, and _hone—”_

“There’s one!” said Buffy.

“What?”

“That one,” said Buffy, pointing to a fellow below them in a garish shirt that Ethan would wear unapologetically. “Talking to that girl.”

“You don’t know—” Giles began, indignant.

“Oh, please!” Buffy was clearly affronted at his doubt. “Look at his shirt, he’s got the sleeves rolled up—just _deal_ with that outfit for a moment.”

“It’s dated?” Giles asked tentatively. Lord, he felt old.

“It’s _carbon_ dated,” Buffy informed him. “It’s 1996, who wears a jacket like that? No one but a guy living underground for ten years would think that _that’s_ a good look.”

This was _also_ not in the handbook. “But you didn’t—hone,” Giles managed weakly.

The fellow moved, revealing the lady who had had his attention. A girl, really, though Giles couldn’t quite make her out—

“Oh, no,” said Buffy, her face paling.

The spotlights caught the girl’s long red hair, and Giles remembered. “Isn’t that—”

“Willow,” said Buffy.

“What’s she doing?”

“Seizing the moment,” said Buffy, sounding all but furious with herself, and hurried past Giles, after Willow.

Giles knew that he should be counting this as a victory. It certainly wasn’t the way that he’d wanted Buffy to resume her duties, but if Willow’s peril provided the Slayer with an incentive, the Council would count that as a win. However, the thought of this careless, carefree girl tasked with saving the life of an innocent made him shudder, and he hoped that she lived up to her reputation. All Council reports had painted her as a talented, if rather insolent, young girl, one who had survived longer than most Slayer and even faced a master vampire. Still a bit nervous, he followed Buffy down the stairs, hoping against hope that she would round the corner with a nervous Willow in tow.

He was instead met with only Buffy. Willow, he assumed, must have remained at the bar. “That was quite quick,” he said, surprised and pleased. “Well done. I-I must be off to, to check in with my wife, and then—the library—”

“I lost them,” said Buffy shortly.

Giles reeled. “You _lost them?”_ he echoed. “Well—we should—go find them, yes?”

“I’ll deal with it,” said Buffy, giving him a hard, tired look that didn’t look quite right on a girl that young. “I can handle one vampire.”

* * *

 

Jenny was sitting in the living room when he arrived. “Ten-thirty,” she said, and got up, tugging his overcoat from his shoulders to hang it on the nearby coat tree. “So you didn’t get dead and stuffed into a locker?”

“One _dies,_ Jenny, one does not _get dead,_ ” said Giles, but found himself feeling surprisingly less upset. The genuine antipathy he had faced from Buffy made his arguments with Jenny seem _much_ less bloodthirsty. “And I unfortunately am only stopping in to let you know I’m all right. I have some research to conduct at the library.”

“Oh,” said Jenny. Then, “I-I can help.”

This took Giles quite by surprise. “I’m sorry?”

“I haven’t been doing a lot,” said Jenny a little awkwardly. “You know, first day and all—I thought maybe you’d like a little company. It can’t be fun to be—”

“What, a textbook with arms?” said Giles stiffly.

Jenny snorted. “Did someone call you that?”

“…no,” Giles mumbled, trying to make it sound convincing.

Jenny was still giggling. “It’s okay,” she said. “If you need some alone time to recover after an emotional blow like that—”

Giles didn’t particularly like the idea of involving Jenny in Watcher business. Divulging Council secrets within the first official day of his sacred calling really wouldn’t do. “I might, yes,” he said, smiling a bit. “Thank you for being understanding about it.”

“Don’t stay out too long,” said Jenny, grinning. “I’m gonna try and make a pot roast.”

“Please don’t, the kitchen cannot _take_ that stress,” said Giles, grinning back as he picked up his overcoat. “I’ll do my best to be back by—shall we say one?”

Jenny bit her lip, and her smile wavered. “If you die like that dead guy, I really will kill you,” she said.

“You’re not going to attempt to dissuade me from staying late?”

“We had that whole big argument already today,” said Jenny, waving a hand. “I’m trying to limit us to maybe two a day, and I want to be able to yell at you about coming home late, so I’m banking my frustration for the moment.”

“That’s terrifying,” Giles told her.

“I know,” said Jenny happily.

“Psychological warfare, in my opinion.”

“Which _could_ make a case for me being a bit smarter than you think?” Jenny batted her lashes.

“Oh, please, it’s never been up for dispute that you’re dizzyingly intelligent,” scoffed Giles as he exited. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a small, surprised smile on Jenny’s face.

* * *

 

Researching was not lighthearted in the slightest. Researching actually led to Giles _missing_ the days when a fake marriage and an incompatible partner were the worst of his troubles. His books described the Harvest as a preordained massacre, one in which the vampires rose up to create hell on earth and murder a terrifying number of people while doing it. Paging through book after book, he continued to find the exact same thing: that the Harvest would be soon, and that it would be a bloody, gory mess.

When he was quite sure that there was nothing else he could find, at least not today, he drove home, stumbling somewhat exhaustedly up the steps. The living room light was off, and he realized with a small, sad twist that Jenny must have already gone to bed. Flipping it on, he hung up his overcoat, then headed into the bedroom, intending to grab a set of pajamas from the dresser.

Jenny was asleep, curled up under some extremely comfortable-looking blankets, and after a night like this Giles honestly couldn’t remember why he wasn’t sleeping in a perfectly cozy, perfectly lovely bed. Pride, perhaps, but that didn’t really seem worth it when he was this tired and wrung-out. He changed gracelessly, then lay down next to her, getting under the covers.

Jenny stirred, then smiled, then moved a bit closer, resting her cheek on his shoulder. It wasn’t quite cuddling, but it was…nice. Particularly after the day he’d had. “You got back by one?” she asked sleepily.

“Twelve-fifteen,” said Giles.

“Mm,” said Jenny, and rolled back away from him, settling into her portion of the blankets. “Long day, huh?”

“The longest,” said Giles, and closed his eyes. Buffy Summers and the Harvest and their mystery informant were all rattling about in his mind, but lying in his bed was comforting and familiar—and lying next to Jenny, much the same. He liked being tired enough not to worry about what that might mean.

* * *

 

The next day was when things _really_ started getting out of hand.

“Okay,” said Buffy, entering the library with both Willow and a dark-haired boy (the latter wearing a shirt that even Giles knew was truly horrible), “we’re gonna need to brief them on vampires.”

Giles stared. “You can’t be serious,” he said. “This is—these are _incredibly secret matters,_ and you’ve just brought them in here to—”

“They almost got killed, Giles!” said Buffy indignantly. “It’s not like I’m just picking people at random to tell that vampires exist! That’s pretty much a one-way ticket to a mental institution—” She stopped, here, pressing her lips together, then continued, “—and you should know that I wouldn’t risk something like that. So. Just—do your whole big speech or whatever.”

“I’m still not sold on any of this,” said the boy uncomfortably.

“Yeah, well, I say we hear them out,” said Willow, her voice small and wobbly. “If they know anything about what might have happened to Jesse…”

The boy’s face clouded. “Okay,” he said, and pulled out a chair for Willow to sit. “Talk to us.”

Giles still wasn’t entirely convinced that he wanted to talk to a boy he had barely met about well-guarded Council secrets that he hadn’t even told his wife, but the pointed look from Buffy and the shaken look in Willow’s eyes made it clear that avoidance wasn’t an option at this juncture. “Well,” he said, ascending the library steps to idly stop the now-spinning globe on the stack level. “The world is—is older than you know—”

“ _Ru_ pert!” Jenny rushed in, looking absolutely furious. “Jesse McNally didn’t show up to school today!”

Giles closed his eyes, hoping against hope that Jenny would be gone when he opened them. When he did, however, she just looked even more annoyed with him, arms crossed and chin jutting out. “And this has to do with me how?” he asked; perhaps she might take the hint and leave.

Jenny didn’t. “I was _saying_ don’t go out last night,” she said, “I was _telling_ you that it would be a bad idea—”

“I’m sorry, do I look like I mysteriously disappeared?” said Giles thinly. “No? Shocking.”

“—and you just go ahead with your little Bronzing escapade?” Jenny finished.

Giles stared. “How did you know I was at the Bronze?”

“That’s not important,” said Jenny. From behind her, Buffy winced a little. “My _point_ is that Jesse McNally was last seen at the Bronze, and there’s already been one murder this week, and I am _so_ not showing up at the morgue to collect your corpse when you _lie_ to me about what you’re doing!”

“I said I had business!” Belatedly, Giles realized that they had an audience. “And—I’m working a study group right now, you are being _horribly_ unprofessional—”

“I’m your wife,” said Jenny. “I _get_ to be unprofessional.”

“Don’t play the wife card,” said Giles, hurrying down the stairs to steer her out of the library. “And don’t just come _charging_ in here, Jenny, I am _teaching._ ”

“Teaching what?” Jenny scoffed.

Irritated, and hoping to catch her off guard, Giles kissed her on the cheek. Jenny, without even a moment’s hesitation, turned her head, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth before pulling back. “Don’t try and beat me at my own game, honey,” she said matter-of-factly. Tugging herself free, she turned and left, adding over her shoulder, “Keeping you safe should _not_ be so much _work,_ Rupert, and I _expect_ to know what you were doing at the Bronze!”

The door swung shut. Giles, who hadn’t missed Buffy’s telling wince, turned on her. “You _told_ her?”

“I thought she knew!” Buffy said indignantly. “We ran into each other in the halls, she said she was sorry for how awful she was yesterday, I said it was fine, she was obviously tired, and with you keeping late nights at the Bronze—”

“Oh, lord,” Giles muttered. He had _no_ idea how Jenny would take the concept of him sneaking out to a _bar_ and not telling her why—a bar that _teenagers_ frequented, no less. He really would have to explain…something…to her. Somehow.

“How come she doesn’t know you’re a Watcher?” There was a strange note to Buffy’s voice—almost overly light.

“To protect her,” said Giles simply. That was the sort of thing one said about one’s wife, wasn’t it? “It’s a bit tense between us as of late, but…she wouldn’t understand.”

Buffy was now looking at him with a different expression, one that was no longer outright animosity…almost sympathy, and with a dash of quiet respect mixed in. “Yeah,” she said. “Kinda feels like that when I’m talking to my mom.”

Giles then felt a strange sadness, looking at Buffy. The idea of sending this hard, hurting girl into battle wasn’t quite as easily imagined as the half-conceived idea of his future Slayer. “Well,” he said. “I’d best resume my, my explanations, then, shouldn’t I?”

“Yeah,” said Buffy, and managed a tired smile.

“See, I feel like there’s this whole _layer_ of information I’m missing,” said the boy, waving a hand between Giles and Buffy, “like what’s a Watcher? And is he _seriously_ married to the hottest teacher on campus?”

“That’s my wife, yes,” said Giles shortly, feeling an irrational irritation, “and I would thank you to remember that she is _much_ more than just a pretty face.” He cleared his throat. “The world is older than you know…”

* * *

 

And as such, Willow and the somewhat frustrating Xander were sent off to classes, Buffy set off to rescue Jesse McNally, and Giles was left to begin his own search for more information on the Harvest, which transitioned rather quickly into trying to figure out how, exactly, he was going to get his nighttime activities past Jenny without arousing suspicion. Framing it as _business_ clearly wouldn’t work anymore, not when she already knew about the Bronze and how strange it was. She might believe his proclivity for research, but—

Wait.

Inspiration struck Giles, and he jumped up, all but running out of the library, across the hall, and towards Jenny’s classroom. He managed to skid to a dignified stop so as to walk inside in a more professional manner, but based on the small smirk on Jenny’s face, she’d heard the sound of hurried footsteps. “Jenny,” he began.

“Mr. Giles, we’re on the clock,” said Jenny, smiling innocently. “Let’s keep it professional.”

“For the _love_ of god,” said Giles. “Would you _please_ speak with me outside?”

“I don’t know,” said Jenny, wavering theatrically. Behind her, Willow was watching them both with amused interest. “I’ve got some pretty hardcore teacher stuff going on here.”

“I’m playing my—my husband card,” said Giles. “Please speak with me outside.”

Jenny rolled her eyes, but followed Giles out into the hallway, shutting the door behind them. “I’m assuming this is an apology?”

“Sort of,” said Giles. “Jenny…I wasn’t entirely honest about why I came to Sunnydale.”

“Oh?”

“I’m…conducting some research for a book I’m writing,” said Giles, struggling to make himself sound convincing. It was much easier to continue a lie of omission than come up with a completely new one. “About paranormal occurrences. I heard that the Bronze was a particularly shady place, a-and I was conducting some…research.”

“And you didn’t tell me this because?”

“I thought you’d think it was…silly?”

To his surprise, Jenny looked a little abashed. “Oh,” she said. “Um. I don’t, I don’t think that, Rupert. I actually think it’s kinda…nice.” She cleared her throat, flushing, then added, “Stupid, too, but that’s just because you’re putting yourself in danger.”

“Oh,” said Giles, who hadn’t had anyone worried about him (was that what this was?) since—well, he honestly didn’t know if anyone ever had been. Watchers were expected to lay down their lives for the cause; anyone and everyone who knew him had always known that he was signing himself up for a messy, painful death. It was strangely lovely to have someone in his life who didn’t. “You’re…very sweet to worry.”

He was expecting Jenny to deny it, but instead she smiled a little awkwardly and nodded. “I can understand if you’d like to be alone for your creepy research, but can you maybe pick safer places?” she asked tentatively. “Like, I don’t know, not the Bronze?”

“Not the Bronze,” Giles agreed wholeheartedly. “That place really is terrible. I have _no_ intention of going there in the near future.”

* * *

 

“You know, I told Jenny I wouldn’t go to the Bronze,” said Giles exhaustedly, lightly touching the place where Darla’s nails had scratched his face. “Said it _directly_ to her. I’m fairly certain she thinks I’m at that cemetery she suggested.”

“Don’t vampires rise in cemeteries?” asked Buffy a little skeptically.

“Oddly enough, the one she picked happened to be, um, sacred ground,” said Giles with a small frown. “Nothing supernatural there in the slightest. I’m sure it was just random, but…it’s still quite sweet of her to try and be of help.”

“Well, I’m feeling pretty okay,” said Willow decisively, sitting down on the edge of the empty stage. “We stopped the Harvest, saved Sunnydale…that feels pretty nice.”

“To say the least,” said Giles. “To be quite honest, I’d really just like to go home.”

“You and me both,” said Buffy, and gave him a small smile.


	5. the unprepared watcher

If he was being completely honest with himself, Giles’s primary concern when it came to Buffy was her tendency to prioritize external activities over her sacred calling. Her visible frustration with her cause perturbed him, and her attempts to seek out other things outside of her destiny, even more so. He had _never_ heard of a Vampire Slayer who balanced her Slaying with extracurriculars. Most were raised and then homeschooled by their Watchers, and none saw their preternatural strength and powers as the hindrance that Buffy seemed to label them as. She patrolled sloppily and without precision, she wouldn’t train with him for longer than an hour, and she _butchered_ the English language with her Americanisms. It was true that she was efficient in the end, but her utter disregard for tradition frightened Giles in how much it reminded him of himself.

Which was perhaps why, when she arrived in the library brandishing pom-poms, he was a bit more horrified than he had any right to be.

“Absolutely not,” he said immediately.

“I’m sorry?” said Buffy.

“This is _utterly_ unbecoming behavior for a Vampire Slayer,” said Giles, and he _knew_ he was being ridiculous, but his mind was jumping from cheerleading to demon-summoning to someone ending up dead. “You cannot _possibly_ distance yourself from your calling like this!”

“You’re kidding, right?” said Buffy, and shook the pom-poms a little, her mouth twitching.

“I am _not—_ kidding,” said Giles, speaking the distastefully American word with an involuntary shudder. “This is _madness!_ What can you have been thinking? You are the Slayer! Lives depend upon you!” All but lost in his fury and fear, he began to pace. “I make allowances for your youth,” he continued, “but I expect a certain amount of responsibility, and instead of which you enslave yourself to this, this...” He stopped, turning to face her. “Cult?”

“You don't like the color?” Buffy asked innocently.

“I d..” Sometimes, it truly felt as though Buffy was taking a leaf out of Jenny’s book. “Do you ignore everything I say as a rule?” he asked thinly.

“No, I believe that's your trick,” Buffy countered, unfazed. As Giles attempted to push a cart of books over towards the counter, she skipped in front of him, posing with pom-poms in hand. “I told you, I'm trying out for the cheerleading squad!”

“You have a sacred birthright, Buffy,” Giles persisted, determined to make her see reason. “You were chosen to destroy vampires, not to...wave pom-poms at people. And as the Watcher,” he added, attempting to infuse the statement with as much finality as possible, “I forbid it.”

Buffy, unbothered and almost amused, looked expectantly up at him. “And you'll be stopping me how?”

Giles hadn’t expected this response. “Well, I...” He sat down on the edge of the table, crossing his arms. “By appealing to your common sense,” he said finally, “if such a creature exists.”

“I will still have time to fight the forces of evil, okay?” Buffy reassured him. “I just wanna have a life. I wanna do something normal. Something safe.”

It was perhaps the last word that softened Giles, just a bit, though he of course had _no_ intention of revealing that to his Slayer. He felt a bit silly, now, thinking that Buffy’s cheerleading attempts were an act of rebellion akin to his own demonic exploits. “Regardless,” he said, still attempting to sound as though he was completely opposed to the concept. A proper Watcher, according to Travers, was a strict disciplinarian, imparting upon their Slayer the importance of knowledge and tradition. “I expect your primary focus to at all times be your Slaying. It won’t do for this town to have a distracted protector.”

The tentative softness in Buffy’s expression vanished. “You know you’re being ridiculous,” she informed him. Without waiting for an answer, she turned on her heel, striding briskly out of the library and nearly colliding with Jenny. “Hey, Ms. Calendar, can you tell your husband he’s being _totally_ ridiculous? Cool! Thanks!”

Weaving around Buffy, and making sure not to spill the contents of the two paper cups she was holding, Jenny gave Giles a small grin as the library doors swung shut. “I don’t need context to agree with Buffy,” she said. “You _are_ ridiculous.”

Giles, still frustrated, let out a furious breath. “ _Teenagers,_ ” he said. “I can’t abide them.”

“You picked the wrong career for that attitude, love muffin,” said Jenny, handing him one of the paper cups. “And don’t you dare get all snobby about how American this tea is. I used up the last bag for you and I had to deal with the entire English department giving me death glares.”

“Hmm,” said Giles. “Tea bags. Haven’t had these in a while.”

“This is why I don’t do nice things for you,” Jenny informed him, taking a sip of her own coffee.

“Didn’t you just?”

Jenny held up a finger, swallowed, then said, “It was _convenient._ Nice is when I go out of my way for you.”

“Lovely,” said Giles. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * *

 

Cheerleading, as it turned out, was not as safe as Buffy had claimed. The day after tryouts brought the news that one of the cheerleaders had burst into flame mid-routine, which, of course, merited serious discussion regarding whether this combustion was mystical in nature. Which then led to Willow bringing up illegally hacking into the school database to see if Amber Grove had burst into flame before, Giles saying without thinking, “Oh, no, I can just ask Jenny to look,” and then Giles spending the entire morning attempting to figure out how to either ask Jenny to breach privacy laws or ask Jenny to teach him how to do it himself.

He eventually decided that dealing with Jenny telling him off for breaking laws was _much_ preferable to dealing with Jenny very smugly teaching him how to use a computer, and as such brought the subject up when she stopped by his office for lunch. What he was _not_ expecting was for her to say, “Oh, um,” and go very pink.

“What is it?” said Giles.

“Well,” said Jenny uncomfortably, “I—kinda already did that.”

“What?”

Jenny bit her lip, then said, “I mean, look, it was what _everyone_ was talking about all day yesterday, and then this morning I started thinking about it and I was like _does that just happen to her sometimes?_ And I know it’s not the most _ethical_ thing to do, but I was _curious_ —”

“So did she?”

Jenny blinked. “You’re not gonna get all British about me breaking rules?”

“Oh, please,” said Giles. “I’d have broken them first if I knew how. Did Amber burst into flames before this?”

Jenny bit her lip and gave him a smile the likes of which he hadn’t seen since their argument on the plane. “Sometimes I really can’t pin you down,” she said.

“I much prefer it that way,” said Giles, and clinked his cup of tea against her mug of coffee. “And about Amber—”

“Never,” said Jenny. “This is the first time it’s happened to her.”

“Hmm,” said Giles, bothered.

“Yeah, that was my reaction,” said Jenny, frowning. “Do you think it’ll happen again?”

“I—don’t know,” said Giles truthfully.

“Not to Amber, I mean,” said Jenny carefully. “To someone else.”

Giles took another look at Jenny, who was looking almost purposefully ahead. “I’m not sure,” he said. “Do you know anything about it?”

“I don’t know,” said Jenny lightly, “it’s just that you’re writing a book about creepy stuff that goes down in this town. I figured you might know about the weird history this high school has when it comes to unexplained deaths and ghost stories and stuff like that.”

“Oh,” said Giles, and almost laughed with relief. “Jenny, there’s—there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

Jenny’s shoulders relaxed, and she gave him a small, strange smile, one that seemed almost protective in nature. “Yes,” she said, and wound her arms around his shoulders, kissing the top of his head without offering any explanation for it (even when a blushing Giles all but demanded one).

* * *

 

The day after _that,_ Cordelia was afflicted with a terrible and mystical blindness, and Jenny happened to be with Giles when the children came to inform him of this. “Giles!” Buffy shouted, bursting into his office, then skidded on her heels and stopped, looking nervously up at Jenny. “Uh—hi, Ms. Calendar!”

“Giles, we have to talk about Cord—” Willow, too, stopped, throwing her arm out in front of Xander. “Ms. Calendar! Is here! Which makes total sense since she’s Giles’s wife! We should, we should maybe come back later?”

Jenny, who was sitting on Giles’s desk, looked quizzically at him.

“I’m hosting a—study group,” said Giles helplessly. He really didn’t like lying to Jenny this early in the morning. Or at all. “They’re a bit overzealous in the morning.”

“Wish that were the case for me,” said Jenny, and gave the kids a warm smile. Buffy, looking a little startled, smiled back. Willow, not looking startled at all, _beamed._ “Hey, are you guys hungry?”

“ _Yes,_ ” said Xander, ducking under Willow’s arm to snag one of the cookies that Giles had made especially for his wife and no one else. “ _Thank_ you. Giles always has killer snacks and he doesn’t let us have them.”

“ _Rupert!”_ Jenny whacked his shoulder. “They’re growing kids! I don’t know _what_ I’d do if my study group hadn’t had snacks back in high school.”

“Yeah, Giles, we _should_ have snacks in the library,” said Buffy, her face lighting up. “We’re here a lot, aren’t we?”

Good lord, Giles could already see the damage they would do to his books. Pizza grease, popcorn kernels… “Jenny,” he said, “this is a _library,_ a place of _sanctity—_ ”

“Knowledge shouldn’t be _restricted_ to non-snackers!”

“Is this really the argument you want to have?”

“Now more than ever, if you’re gonna judge me about it,” said Jenny, kissing Giles on the cheek. Giles blushed. “Kids, you have my express permission to eat in this library,” she added, “and he isn’t going to change that, because he loves me _sooo_ much.”

“Jenny—”

Jenny gave him a frankly _unfair_ look, one with innocent eyes and a hopeful smile and her finger tracing quiet circles around Giles’s heart. That could be a rather pretty metaphor for something, he thought. “Um,” he said, and tried to remember exactly what it was that he’d been in opposition to.

“Oh my god, Ms. Calendar, you have _superpowers,_ ” said Xander. “Can you be in the library _all_ the time?”

“Unfortunately, I have class to teach,” said Jenny, her hand stilling and sliding up to gently grip Giles’s shoulder. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek; his heart sped up. “Look, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she said, quiet enough that only he would hear, “but I know them, and they’re good kids. They’ll do their best to keep your books neat.”

Giles stared at her, stunned, as she pulled away. Had she just…ended an argument without insisting on him doing things _her_ way?

“Xander, that homework really is due Monday,” Jenny added, patting Willow’s shoulder as she exited the office. She turned to look back, once, her expression unusually and genuinely appreciative, and then she left the library.

“Your wife is the _best,_ ” said Xander, who had somehow polished off _all_ of the snacks while Giles and Jenny had been talking.

“Seconded,” said Willow.

“Can she marry _me?”_ said Buffy emphatically.

Lovely. His Slayer liked his fake wife better than him. Not that he needed his Slayer to like him, that wasn’t the _point—_ “Anyway,” said Giles. “What exactly was it that you wanted to inform me of with such urgency?”

“Oh,” said Buffy. “Yeah. Can we have snacks first?”

“…yes,” said Giles, and found the microwave popcorn that Jenny had hidden in one of his desk drawers. “Go sit at the table and I’ll make you all popcorn.”

“Ms. Calendar’s probably the only person who could have pulled that off,” he heard Willow whispering to Buffy as he started the microwave.

“How did _she_ end up with _Giles?”_ Buffy whispered back. “I mean, they’re _total_ opposites. Ms. Calendar’s all cool and pretty, and Giles is all…books and tweed.”

Giles decided to take that as a compliment.

* * *

 

Giles spent most of the night researching witchcraft as covertly as possible. If the witch was in fact Amy, and if said powerful witch, with the capabilities to blind, mute, and do who knows what else to her enemies, was after a spot on the _cheerleading squad…_ well, suffice it to say that he would _not_ be in favor of Buffy being part of such a dangerous extracurricular. That, and Amy very badly needed to be stopped.

Jenny, who had been playing video games next to him on the couch, paused, taking a second look at the book he was reading. “What’s that?” she asked, almost guarded.

“Hmm?” Giles looked up. “Oh—your supernatural talk got me thinking,” he said, attempting a self-deprecating laugh. “Doing a bit of, um, pleasure reading.”

Jenny cocked her head. “It’s just that that’s a pretty rare book,” she said finally. “Pretty unusual for pleasure reading.”

Giles blinked, startled. “How did you know of its rarity?” he asked. “It’s a family heirloom.”

“Huh?” Jenny looked uncomfortable. “I-I read a lot of occult stuff, that’s all.” Before Giles could fully digest this rather startling information, she added, “When you’re done with your book, can you make dinner? I’d make a microwave meal, but we don’t have any, because you wouldn’t let me buy any last time we went grocery shopping.”

“Microwave meals are terrible,” said Giles, grateful for the opportunity to change the subject. “And yes, I will. Just let me mark my place and I’ll be right on it.”

“Great,” said Jenny awkwardly. “I might run a few errands while you’re working on dinner. If that’s okay?”

Giles looked nervously out at the setting sun. “Bit dark for that,” he said.

 _“You_ go out after dark all the time,” said Jenny, raising an eyebrow.

This was a fair point. “All right,” said Giles. “Just—” and without thinking, he reached out to gently touch Jenny’s shoulder. “Be careful,” he said.

Jenny looked down at his hand, then looked back up at him, genuinely taken aback. “I’ve taken care of myself for a while now,” she said finally. “I’ll be okay.” Shrugging off his hand, she got up from the couch, but she looked a little flustered and she forgot to turn the television off on her way out.

“Waste of electricity,” said Giles, smiling slightly, and shut off the television himself.

* * *

 

Jenny didn’t come back until late that night, and hung a pair of dollar-store binoculars quietly by the door. Giles’s curiosity was piqued, but it felt thoroughly hypocritical to ask her questions when he himself was hiding such a large secret from her, and so he held his tongue.

* * *

 

Giles had barely gotten into the library the next morning when he was met with a panicked Willow and Xander, holding between them a pale, woozy Buffy. “What on earth happened?” he demanded, anxiety making his voice sharper than it needed to be. He wasn’t used to seeing Buffy look this small.

“Amy,” said Buffy simply, letting Willow and Xander lower her down into Giles’s chair.

“Willow, get her a wet cloth for her forehead,” Giles directed, then turned to look again at Buffy, his heart in his throat. He found, suddenly, that he was no longer thinking about what it might mean for his Slayer to die, or his reputation in the eyes of the Council, or any of his usual worries—worries that now seemed like foolish, bureaucratic, heartless nonsense, straight from the mind of a man who had never truly understood being a Watcher until now. She was a girl. She was tiny, strands of hair plastered to her face, eyes unfocused, and he was _terrified_ that he would not be able to save her.

“We have to get her to a hospital!” said Willow, loudly, but still with that panicked compassion that seemed to characterize her every action.

“They can’t help her,” said Giles heavily. He knew this spell quite intimately. He and Ethan had come across it in their studies, looking for things that might get them high. They had stumbled upon this one before Eyghon, but upon reading of its aftereffects… “This is a bloodstone vengeance spell,” he said, taking Buffy’s pulse. As he’d expected, it was thready, weak, but still present. They had time. “Hits the body hard like a, a quart of alcohol, and then it eradicates the immune system.”

“A vengeance spell,” Xander echoed, “like she’s trying to get even with Buffy?”

“Cause she knows I know she’s a witch,” said Buffy, level and almost resigned. Giles thought his heart might shatter—she was so—she was _too_ small, this girl, to be this accustomed to death. Even he had not been quite so comfortable with his calling at her age—and yes, she played at rebellion, but she was—she was a _good Slayer._ She was a good Slayer.

“The others she wanted out of the running,” he said, surprised at how steady he was keeping his voice. “You, she wanted to…” Here, he couldn’t continue.

“Kill?” Buffy finished. It wasn’t really a question.

“How much time do we have?” Willow asked nervously.

“Oh, uh, I’m sure, uh…” Giles fumbled, not wanting to give them the answer.

“Truth,” said Buffy. “Please.”

He felt so hopelessly inept, now. This job wasn’t an _honor_ if they had so easily given it to someone so unprepared as him. “A couple of hours,” he said quietly. “Three at most.”

* * *

 

The moment that stood out, to Giles, in the bewildering story that unfolded over the course of the next hour, was the way a pale, weak Buffy reached over to Amy Madison and said, “Amy, it’s going to be okay.” She blew him away, in that moment: this child, this sixteen-year-old small enough for him to lift up and carry to his car (and did, and had to, because the spell had weakened her immune system quite extensively), this girl weighed down by her sacred duty that might very well kill her that day, reaching out to make sure another girl received comfort.

Giles was not prepared to be a Watcher, he thought. Buffy, however, was most certainly prepared to be a Slayer.

* * *

 

He would do anything to protect this girl. He had to remind himself that, in the chemistry classroom, the boiling mixture bubbling and reminding him that this was his first real casting since Eyghon. He would do anything to protect this girl, because it was his sacred duty, but this day had started with him being afraid and it seemed it would end in that same way. He was afraid of so many things, in this moment: that he would succumb to the magics yet again, that this wouldn’t work, that Buffy would die, that he would be alone in his failure—

But he wouldn’t be _quite_ alone, he realized. Jenny had wanted to attend today’s basketball game. He was sure she’d be all but furious at him for dropping off the face of the earth all day. She was probably at the game right now, that or turning Sunnydale upside down looking for him.

It wouldn’t _do_ for a Watcher, a husband, a _librarian_ to be afraid. Giles closed his eyes for half a second, opened them, and began to read, stirring the mixture as he did so.

“The center is dark,” he read. “Centrum est obscurus. The darkness breathes. Tenebrae respiratis. The listener hears. Hear me!”

“It’s _working,_ ” said Mrs. Madison (Amy?), almost reverent in her relief.

“Unlock the gate,” Giles read, and felt the familiar, heady sensation of magics running through him. He thought, determinedly, of Buffy, and of Jenny, and of the thousand and one reasons he had not to throw himself into liking the sensation. “Let the darkness shine. Cover us with holy fear.”

Behind him, Amy (Mrs. Madison?) staggered back, covering her face.

“Show me...” The power was building behind his eyes. The lights in the classroom went out.

“She’s coming!” gasped out Amy.

Giles felt a flicker of worry break his concentration, and focused on holding tight to the magics, throwing his arms up with a half-ironic thought regarding Jenny’s attempts to attach an antenna to the television the night before. “Corsheth and Gilail!” he shouted. “The gate is closed! Receive the dark! Release the unworthy! Take of mine energy and be sated!”

And then he plunged his hands into the mixture and was _quite_ sure he got some rather horrible burns. Ah, well. That turned out to be the least of his worries.

* * *

 

“ _Rupert,_ ” said Jenny as soon as she saw him. He was rather expecting her to begin yelling at him, but instead she let out a strangled noise, pushed past the students leaving the basketball game, knocked Xander out of the way, and flung her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. Giles, stunned, hugged her back, inadvertently lifting her off her feet.

“Aww,” said Willow, and grinned. Buffy grinned too.

“I’m going to _kill_ you,” Jenny said, raising her head to glare at him. “Also, I’m buying you a pager.”

“Absolutely _not,_ ” said Giles, affronted. “I have gone through _enough_ today without having to deal with those—little—beepy things.”

“Yeah, beepy things are the technical term,” said Jenny, giving him a frustrated smile. “You understand that vanishing completely for the _whole_ day in a town like this is _extremely_ stressful for me? I’ve been asking around about you all _day._ ”

Though Giles and Jenny had discussed creating the illusion of convincing intimacy, the genuine concern in Jenny’s eyes was well past anything either of them could invent. It made Giles feel rather guilty, especially considering how generally unflappable Jenny was. He really must have worried her. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I never mean to trouble you.” Setting her down, and not quite sure what to do with his hands, he nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll leave you a note next time,” he said.

“ _Page_ me,” said Jenny.

 _“No,”_ said Giles.

“I think that’s our cue,” said Buffy, giving Giles a small, amused smile. “I kinda feel like going home, pigging out on junk food…you know. Self-care kinda stuff.”

“Good,” said Giles, who was vaguely aware of the fact that his arm was still tucked around Jenny’s waist, and didn’t mind. It _did_ make them look rather married, after all. “You deserve it.”

“Rupert!” He felt Jenny tug reprovingly on his hand, and winced. “What the hell _happened?_ Did you put your hands into a deep fryer?”

“Pretty much,” said Buffy, her mouth twitching. “Good luck explaining _that_ one, Giles.” Throwing an arm around Willow’s shoulder, she headed off, striding with purpose and energy that more than comforted Giles. She, at least, didn’t seem worse for wear.

“First aid,” said Jenny. “And explanation.” She let go of his hand, tugging at his sleeve instead. “Do you have a kit in the library?”

“I—believe so—”

“No, you know what? Band-Aids aren’t gonna cut it. I got this _amazing_ heavy-duty first-aid kit from the pharmacy last week, we are using that, I think it has burn cream—” Jenny led him down the hall, finally stopping at her classroom to open the door. “But what happened?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” said Giles truthfully, stepping in after her. It really had been that kind of day.

Jenny seemed satisfied with that answer. “So the kind of weirdness on par with, say, random acts of blindness?” she asked. “Well. I’m just glad you got burns and nothing else. I like your eyes plenty as they are, and I would one hundred percent divorce you on the spot if your mouth got replaced by smooth skin with no opening. That kind of stuff is for B-list horror movies only, _thank_ you—”

Shutting the door, Giles caught Jenny by her waist, pressing a quiet kiss to her cheek. She stopped talking, her eyes huge. “After a day like this,” he said, “it is quite nice to see you again.”

“Oh,” said Jenny. “Oh. Okay,” and sat down on the edge of her desk, looking a bit stunned.

“Um, Jenny?”

“Yeah?”

“First aid?”

“Oh!” Blushing, Jenny jumped up, hurrying around her desk to rummage in one of the drawers. “Okay—here, just grab a chair and sit down.”

Giles obliged, sitting on the other side of the desk and waiting until Jenny and the first aid kit were settled. “How was the game?” he asked.

“Amy Madison took a pretty nasty tumble,” said Jenny, wincing sympathetically as she dabbed at his burns with a moist towelette. “I’m thinking I might check in on her tomorrow, maybe see how she’s doing.”

“I think that’d be an excellent idea,” said Giles honestly.

“Shock!” Jenny clapped a hand dramatically to her chest, “Wonder! Rupert Giles, thinking one of my ideas is _excellent!_ ” She grinned. “Am I gonna get you to say yes to that pager?”

“When hell freezes over,” said Giles primly.

“Oh, whatever,” said Jenny, and began to bandage one of his hands.


	6. the whole nice thing

Getting out of the car, Giles caught sight of a new and very pretty substitute teacher stepping out of a taxi, one who appeared to be creating quite the stir among the boys playing Frisbee in the front courtyard. Rolling his eyes a little, he crossed around to open the door for Jenny, who—was giving the substitute the once-over. Good lord.

“We’re _married,_ ” he said.

“So?” said Jenny, not even bothering to look at him. “I could have an affair. _Hey,_ Rupert, that’s how we get divorced!” She beamed up at him as though thinking herself an absolute genius. “I seduce the unbelievably hot substitute, you find us in bed and throw a hissy fit—”

“Thank you, no,” said Giles, thoroughly bothered by how _very_ little he appreciated this concept. “We’ve not been married a month—”

“Oooh, hey, it’ll be our monthiversary tomorrow,” said Jenny brightly, slipping her hand into his as they began to walk. “Gotta think of something to do to celebrate—oh, there’s Buffy!”

Giles blinked. Buffy was getting out of a car near them. “Jenny,” he began, about to rattle off an excuse that might allow him to speak to Buffy alone.

“Hey, Buffy,” said Jenny, a strange lightness to her voice as she tugged Giles to meet Buffy by the car, “I know it’s not my business, but word on the street is you’re talking to a guy named Angel?”

This was the exact last thing that Giles had expected Jenny to say. He stared first at her, then at Buffy, who was looking at him with wide, indignant eyes. “Well, don’t look at _me,_ I didn’t tell her,” he said, holding up his hands.

“I mean, yeah,” said Buffy cagily, “he and I talk. Why?”

Jenny hesitated, then said, “He’s not—he isn’t _dangerous,_ but I think you should exercise some caution, okay?”

“You know him?”

Jenny hesitated again. “Not directly.”

Buffy looked again at Giles, like she expected him to know something about this. Helplessly, Giles said, “I—Jenny, how did you know about Angel? Buffy’s only mentioned him in passing.”

Jenny shrugged. “Word gets around,” she said evasively. Then, “Listen, Rupert, I have to run ahead and set up the lab. I’ll see you at lunch?”

“Um—yes,” said Giles, still quite bemused.

Jenny gave him a quick, professional kiss on the cheek, then hurried on ahead, stopping by a nearby bench to say hello to Willow.

“You said you didn’t know Angel!” said Buffy indignantly. “And now your wife’s telling me he’s bad news?”

“I _don’t_ know Angel,” said Giles, watching Jenny with a frown. “Frankly, Buffy, I’m as surprised as you are. She’s never mentioned Angel.”

“That’s kinda weird,” said Buffy, tilting her head at him. “How come your wife knows Angel’s bad news but she never told you?”

The truth was, of course, that Giles and Jenny barely knew each other, but telling Buffy this would mean telling Buffy about the mess that was their marriage. Now that Giles _knew_ Buffy, he knew that telling Buffy about his marriage might open him up for a _world_ of teasing. And that was the best-case scenario. “Jenny can be a bit secretive at times,” he said finally. “I do my best not to pry.”

Buffy frowned a little, but the answer seemed to satisfy her. “Okay,” she said. “It’s just that it’s kinda weird timing. I was just about to tell you that I saw Angel again last night.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” said Buffy, and began explaining what, exactly, Angel had warned her about.

But Giles’s mind was still on Jenny, and not in the pleasantly aggravating way. Angel had indeed given them some unusual and helpful information, enough to make it clear that he was rather involved in the supernatural scene. Jenny knowing him, and knowing something _about_ him, might indicate that Jenny knew more about what really went on in Sunnydale than Giles had previously expected.

He wasn’t entirely sure whether or not this could be counted as a good thing.

* * *

 

The day progressed as it generally did until thirty minutes into the lunch period. Giles and Jenny were having a surprisingly good-natured argument regarding the merits of iced tea, and then the library doors opened and Buffy stumbled through, shaken and sniffling. She was closely followed by a similarly upset Willow and Xander, the latter looking vaguely nauseated.

Jenny turned, smiling, but her smile faded as she registered their faces. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

Buffy swallowed, hard, then said in a small voice, “They found—Doctor Gregory—in the freezer.”

Giles’s first thought was _god, I hope I misheard._ “What?”

“Just his body,” said Buffy. “His head’s missing.” She crossed the room in two steps, all but falling to sit on the stairs leading into the stacks.

Next to Giles, Jenny drew in a shaking breath, gripping the library counter to steady herself. Giles, feeling a bit sick, looked to Willow and Xander. “Are you two all right?” he asked gently.

“No,” said Willow in a small voice. “I don’t _like this,_ Giles.”

“Frankly, neither do I,” said Giles, attempting to laugh. It didn’t really work. “Sit down, all right? I’ll get you both some—something to drink. What—that is, how did you find out?”

“We, uh, saw,” said Xander uncomfortably. “The body.”

Jenny’s eyes widened. “ _God,_ ” she said softly, and, without hesitation, hurried over to kneel in front of Buffy, awkwardly squeezing her shoulder. “Are you okay? Stupid question, you’re not okay. Okay. Hold up. God, I’m bad at comforting people.”

Buffy sniffle-laughed. “No, you’re doing okay,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “You’re really nice, you know that? Giles totally hit the jackpot with you.”

Jenny grinned a little exhaustedly, looking up at Giles. “You could say he…gambled and won,” she said, and that made Giles almost laugh outright. It didn’t seem at all apropos, under the circumstances, so he bit his lip instead.

“I think they’re holding a little memorial service after school,” said Willow distantly. “I think I kinda want to go to that.”

“We’ll probably go too,” said Jenny, pulling herself to her feet. “He was a good guy.” She brushed off her skirt, awkwardly readjusting herself, but she still looked a bit discombobulated. Understandable, Giles thought, given the news they had just heard. “I should probably set up my class,” she said. “Figure out what to tell my students.”

“Probably don’t lead with _they found Doctor Gregory in the freezer,”_ said Buffy dismally. “Wasn’t my best entrance.”

“You were under a lot of stress, Buffy, you’re completely okay,” said Jenny patiently.

Buffy’s face instantly softened, and Giles felt a twinge of irritation at that; he’d been getting argumentative glares and determinedly bouncy quips from Buffy, but _never_ that absolutely adoring trust. His logical side was pointing out that, in comparison to his own strict, disciplinarian ways, Jenny was most certainly a nurturing breath of fresh air, but his _rational_ side was pointing out that calling _Jenny_ a breath of fresh air was _ridiculous_ when she had once _locked him out of the house_ during an argument and then acted like that counted as winning.

And—and anyway, it was all ridiculous. Buffy wasn’t going to look at her Watcher like he was a mentor, she was going to look at him like he was a _teacher._ The difference had been stressed many a time by Travers, and it was particularly pertinent now. Obviously.

Then Buffy turned to Giles. “You have a nice wife,” she said in a small voice, then, “Can I have that thing to drink?”

“Of course,” said Giles. “Jenny—”

Jenny stepped back over to him and pressed a butterfly-soft kiss to his cheek, one that reminded him of tangled sheets and plane rides and _you’re not that bad a husband, Rupert Giles._ He swallowed, hard. “You’d better not lose your head at _any_ point during this day, Rupert, I’m _serious,_ ” she said, eyes locked on his. Glancing one last time at the children, she turned, heading out of the library.

“I’ll get that water,” said Giles, feeling a rather convoluted mess of emotions that he really couldn’t sort through at this juncture.

* * *

 

They stayed late for the memorial. Buffy had promised to go home and be reasonable, and Xander was still rather annoyingly enraptured by the lovely Miss French, but Giles, Jenny, and Willow all headed down to the faculty room, where Flutie was stumbling through an awkward, uncomfortable speech about Doctor Gregory that really didn’t capture any of his finer points.

“So this is what it’s gonna be like when this town inevitably kills me, huh?” said Jenny to Giles, quietly enough that Willow wouldn’t hear. “A bunch of people who didn’t know me sitting around and talking about how I was always diligent and never late.”

“Don’t talk like that,” said Giles. Something deep in his chest had twisted, hard, at the thought of this being Jenny’s memorial.

“Why not?” Jenny leaned against him, eyes distant. “Odds are we’re going to end up dead,” she said, half-laughing, but it was clear that she wasn’t really joking at all. “It’s mathematics, Rupert. There’s a murder every two days, half the time it’s a teacher—”

“That dead fellow in the gymnasium, that was four days ago—”

“There was still a _dead guy in the gym._ ”

Giles took another look at Jenny, and felt, if possible, much worse. He’d been infuriated by her stubborn convictions, her optimism regarding technology, and her utter refusal to back down from any fight, but the tired, dispassionate look on her face was something he didn’t at all like seeing. “I’ll protect you,” he said, softly, stupidly.

She didn’t say anything, but she took his hand.

* * *

 

Jenny was quiet for the entire drive home. He turned on all the radio stations he knew she hated, but she didn’t rise to the bait and start an argument. She just stared out the window until they reached their house, and then she got out of the car, headed up the porch steps, and turned, waiting for him by the front door.

Giles didn’t like seeing her like this. Getting out of the car himself, he hesitated, then walked up and towards her, watching as she turned to unlock the door.

Their house felt strange, still, and rather unpleasantly lifeless. Jenny sat down on the couch without turning on the light, tipping her head back and staring at the ceiling. Giles turned on a nearby lamp and sat down next to her. “If there’s anything I can do,” he began.

Jenny turned to look at him. “I kind of want to leave,” she said, but she said it distantly and without much conviction. “Can we do that? Can we just—pack up, go to England, meet your parents, live in a dumb cottage by the sea where there are no creepy deaths and no missing heads? I want to do that. Let’s do that.”

Giles reached out and squeezed her shoulder. She looked at him, mouth trembling. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go to England.”

“Okay,” Jenny whispered. She didn’t move.

Giles was quite tempted to pull her into his arms and hold her, if only because she looked so uncharacteristically fragile. But he didn’t feel quite ready to be rebuffed, so he said instead, “What do you need, Jenny?”

To his complete surprise, Jenny tackled him in a hug, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. “I _hate_ this town,” she said, her voice shaking. “I hate every single part of this town. Doctor Gregory was one of the nicest teachers on staff, and now I’ve gotta deal with the fact that literally anyone I know might be dead in two days, and—and I’m _scared._ And I _hate_ being scared. And I _hate_ that you’re being so _nice_ right now.”

“Would you like me to be terrible about something?” Giles asked weakly, hugging Jenny back.

“I don’t know,” said Jenny helplessly. “I just want some kind of fucking _normalcy._ I mean, god, we’re _hugging_ right now, and this morning I was contemplating pouring syrup all over one of your rarest manuscripts to get you back for boxing up my computer _again._ ”

“Oh,” said Giles, wincing. “I was hoping you hadn’t noticed that.”

Jenny exhaled, a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “For all your academic austerity,” she said, “you can be really, really stupid sometimes. I use my computer _daily,_ Rupert, it’s _important_ to me.”

“I mean, I’d use my desk daily if I had a desk,” said Giles before he could stop himself, then winced. “Um. Sorry. Do you still need gentle handling?”

“Use _gentle handling_ in relation to me again and I will not-so-gently handle you straight into a broom closet,” said Jenny, then groaned. “That sounded like a really bad come-on, didn’t it?”

“Not quite as terrible as introducing yourself to a gentleman with _I’m really not interested,_ ” said Giles innocently.

Jenny raised her head, giving him a crooked smile. “Hey,” she said. “I married you, didn’t I?”

“You did, at that,” said Giles, smiling too. Gently, he removed himself from her embrace. “Feeling better?”

“I—” Jenny blinked. “Kinda,” she said, sounding honestly surprised.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“You’re being so _nice,_ ” said Jenny, nose wrinkling. “It’s weird. Can you go back to being terrible and technophobic and rearranging the kitchen cupboards obsessively to hide my plates?”

“I contain multitudes,” said Giles, a mixture of touched and annoyed. “It’s not as though I can remove my better qualities just so you can pretend not to like me.”

“I _don’t_ like you,” Jenny objected, then stopped, eyes widening in horror. “Oh, _god,_ ” she groaned, falling back into the couch. “Oh my god, I _like_ you?”

“Clearly, you’re coming around,” said Giles, patting her shoulder. Jenny swatted his hand away, glaring. “If it helps,” he added, his grin fading, “I think I—like you too.” He winced. “God, that’s awful.”

Jenny bit her lip, grinning.

“What?”

“We finally agree on something,” said Jenny. “What are the odds?”

Giles smiled a little. Jenny smiled too. There was a quiet, charged feeling that hung in the air, enough to make him turn towards her on the couch. Of its own volition, Giles’s gaze dropped to her mouth.

“It’s nice,” said Jenny, her voice softening. “To have a friend.”

The word jerked Giles back into reality. Jenny was grappling with the horrors that surrounded her, and she was smart enough to recognize the possibility that one such horror might end up killing her. Lovely as it would be to move just a bit closer, it would be self-centered, selfish, and taking advantage of her need for comfort. “I’m glad,” he said sincerely. “Regardless of how often we find ourselves at each other’s throats, Jenny, I, I think you’re a rather incredible person.”

“Ugh,” said Jenny, making a face in what was a very clear attempt to disguise her blush. “Still not used to you doing the whole nice thing.”

* * *

 

“Hey, Giles?” Buffy poked her head into the library, then stepped up and around the checkout desk. “Can we talk for a sec? I saw something _really_ weird while I was out in Weatherly Park—”

Giles frowned. “You went hunting last night,” he said stiffly.

“Yes,” said Buffy, unbothered.

“When you assured me you wouldn't,” said Giles pointedly, taking a sip from his cup of tea.

“Okay, I lied, I'm a bad person, let's move on,” said Buffy, waving a hand impatiently.

This bit of his life, at least, Giles was getting quite used to. Buffy did have a carefree approach to Slaying, but the fact remained that she always got the job done, and that fact made him much more willing to put aside Buffy’s disobedience. “Did you see someone with a fork?” he asked.

“More like a jumbo claw,” Buffy answered with distaste.

“Oh,” said Giles, and the image of Buffy, pale and weak on the chemistry lab table, flashed quickly and painfully across his mind. “Well, at least you're not hurt,” he managed.

“And I saw something else,” Buffy continued, not noticing Giles’s brief moment of discomfort. “Something much more interesting than your average run-of-the-mill killer vampire.”

“Oh?” said Giles.

Buffy hesitated. Then she said, “Do you know Miss French, the teacher that's subbing for Dr. Gregory?”

The name rang a bell. Miss French…that was the attractive substitute teacher who had caught Jenny’s eye. “She’s not _that_ attractive,” said Giles stiffly. He was suddenly thinking of Jenny’s suggestion of bedding the substitute and cheating on him with her, and yes, Jenny did joke about those things, but frankly it wasn’t unreasonable to assume that Jenny would be attracted to such a lovely young woman over an austere, tweedy librarian—

“Um, interesting take,” said Buffy, looking like she was trying not to laugh. “Is this ‘cause you’re married and you don’t want to talk about other ladies if your wife might hear?”

“Ooh, now seems like the _perfect_ time to make my entrance,” said Jenny, sounding thoroughly amused herself. Giles jumped. “Honey,” said Jenny patiently, “I brought you tea, stop looking like I caught you making out with the substitute teacher.”

This was so utterly unfair. “Making out—” Giles sputtered.

And then Jenny stood on tiptoe, still holding the tea carefully in one hand, and pressed a quick, gentle kiss to the corner of Giles’s mouth. The soft brush of her mouth against his was so startling in its intimacy that Giles found himself speechless when she pulled away.

“Tone it _down,_ you two,” said Buffy, “I am _still here,”_ but there was a giggle in her voice.

Jenny had looked quite confident, leaning in, but as she pulled away, she was beginning to blush. “I, um, you should, I should—okay,” she managed, looking a little stunned, and left, completely forgetting that she was still holding Giles’s tea.

“God, you two are such newlyweds,” said an amused Buffy. “It’s nauseating.”

She’d kissed him. _She’d_ kissed him. She’d _kissed_ him. She’d kissed _him._

“Uh, earth to Giles?” said Buffy pointedly. “We were talking about Miss French?”

Giles did his best to compose himself, running through all the logical reasons why he should _not_ be so hopelessly flustered. Jenny’s kiss had made sense, within the context: a teasing gesture between husband and wife. Public displays of affection were necessary to support the illusion of their marriage. And her blush…was because…why on earth _had_ she blushed? Jenny Calendar, unflappably composed…had blushed because she’d kissed him?

Buffy cleared her throat.

“Yes, um, Miss French,” said Giles a little too loudly, blushing furiously. “What about her?”

* * *

 

Miss French was a giant insect. This rang quite a few alarm bells when paired with Carlyle’s claims back in Oxford about some insect-woman who preyed on the pure of body. Giles was hanging up the phone, rather exhausted by the arduous process of getting coherent information out of his old friend, when Jenny stepped in, shutting the door behind her. He looked up, startled, then said, “Um, I-I realize it is a bit late—”

“Can you just, I don’t know, give me a schedule for your little study group thing?” There was clear frustration in Jenny’s tone. “I didn’t want to drive home without telling you, but you had the _library closed for maintenance_ sign up, and you get all weird if I interrupt you while you’re in the middle of reorganizing—”

“I—what?” Giles blinked, then blushed. “You—noticed?”

“See? Weird.” Jenny waved a hand at him. “It’s been three hours, Rupert. Which ended up being okay, since I had some papers to grade, but not every night is gonna be like this. If this thing is going to work, we need to at least communicate our plans to each other a _little._ ”

“I’m sorry,” said Giles.

Jenny stared at him. A moment passed before she said, “You’re sorry?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” said Giles a bit testily. Talking to Carlyle had been stressful, and it was extremely likely that Xander was under the thrall of a giant praying mantis, and he didn’t have time for whatever the hell Jenny’s problem was with him being sorry.

“It’s just that you don’t usually apologize to me,” said Jenny stiffly, an embarrassed flush rising in her cheeks. Too late, Giles realized that he’d misinterpreted her. “It’s not—look, just, just get me a schedule for your study group thing, I’ll go, okay? Obviously you’re stressed and me being here isn’t helping even a little—”

Giles caught her hand in his before she could leave.

The door was shut, he thought. There was no possible way he could explain this to her if she asked. No one was watching, no one knew they were arguing, and there was no reason to take her hand, rubbing his thumb quietly against the side of her finger. “I _am_ sorry,” he said awkwardly. “I’m not pleasant company at this time of night, especially not when I’m working overtime. I’ll get you that schedule, Jenny, and—and I’ll pick you up something nice from the supermarket. Frozen pizza? Microwave meal?”

Jenny’s eyes were very wide. Worried that he had overstepped, Giles tried to drop her hand, but she was holding on tight. “Yeah, okay,” she said.

There was a hammering on the door. “GILES!” Buffy shouted. “Giles, we need your help with the mantis—”

 _“He’s in there with Ms. Calendar!”_ Giles heard Willow hiss.

“Uh—” Giles could all but hear Buffy’s mind working overtime to come up with a plausible excuse. “Mantis—um, project! For science! Because Ms. French is talking about insects in class!”

“Fitting, really,” said Giles a bit derisively.

Jenny gave him an amused look. “You _really_ don’t like that poor, pretty teacher, huh?”

The phrase _poor, pretty teacher_ didn’t seem to fit a giant insect that was most likely eating virgins, but Giles couldn’t very well tell Jenny this. “Well, _you_ seem to like her enough for the both of us,” he shot back, and was mortified to find that he was blushing.

Jenny’s little grin faded, replaced with a slow comprehension. “Wait,” she said. “Is this because I said I wanted to sleep with Ms. French?”

“What—it—the—” Giles stammered. “That’s—”

Jenny looked down, very clearly trying to hide her smile. “Rupert, I’m a married woman,” she said. “And I’ve never been the type to cheat on people, even if I _am_ the type to joke about it. We made a sacred vow, remember?”

“A drunken vow,” said Giles quietly.

“A vow’s a vow no matter how you slice it,” said Jenny, and her other hand moved to lightly rest on his shoulder.

Just as Giles was about to place his free hand over hers, Buffy slammed the door open with all her Slayer strength, nearly hitting him in the back of the head. “Giles,” she said, “as great as it would be if we all had time for you to be lovey-dovey with your wife, I _seriously_ need your help right now.”

Giles felt certain that he was smiling rather foolishly. Softly, he said, “You’re quite right, Jenny. A vow is a vow.”

“Giles!” said Buffy. “Mantis! Okay, you know what, Ms. Calendar?” She moved forward, tugging Jenny bodily away from Giles. “ _You_ are a bona fide distraction,” she was saying, steering Jenny out of the library, “and as cool as that is when we _want_ Giles a dorky, swoony mess, we really need him teaching us stuff right now, so thank you so much and please come again when he tells me not to put my feet on the table.”

“You’re making a pretty valid point there,” said an amused Jenny, gently extricating herself from Buffy’s grip. “See you at home, Rupert?”

“Much so,” said Giles, who wasn’t quite able to form words at the moment.

“Yeah, cool,” said Jenny, her smile softening as she looked at him.

“They’re doing that weird married thing again,” said Buffy knowledgably to Willow, and pulled Jenny all the way out of the library.

* * *

 

Jenny was reading a book on the couch when Giles came back from fighting the mantis, and hissed through her teeth when she saw him, shutting the book and getting up immediately to place a hand gently on his cheek. “What happened?”

Giles blinked. “What?” Belatedly, he remembered scrambling against the floor for the tape. “Oh, um—do I look bad?”

“There’s a scrape down the side of your face,” Jenny informed him, giving him a bemused frown. “Did you just not notice?”

“In my line of work, one gets used to quite a lot of pain,” said Giles without thinking.

Jenny snickered, then pressed her hands to her mouth, trying to compose herself. “Sorry,” she managed. “Just, uh—you’re really out there fighting the good fight, huh? Dodging stacks of falling books, bandaging papercuts, making sure you don’t climb too high on the bookshelves?”

“Indeed,” said Giles, and grinned a bit himself. If one assumed that his job didn’t extend beyond that of a librarian, his description of it _was_ quite amusing. “If you don’t mind, I’ll, um, go patch myself up—”

“Sit down so I can fix your face,” said Jenny, in a tone that allowed for no argument.

“Yes, dear,” said Giles without thinking, then blushed. His cheek stung.

As Jenny rummaged through the kitchen cabinets for the first-aid kit, Giles sat down, watching her and feeling something strange in his chest. This was now the third time she had patched him up without question, and the first time in his life that someone had consistently done so for him. Not all of this could truly be chalked up to her trying to prove she could pretend to care about him. He was beginning to get the very strong sense that this kind of care was something that Jenny _did_ for people, just because she could, and that was…admirable.

To say the least.

“Okay, so I’ve got a wet cloth and some extra soapy water,” Jenny announced, rounding the corner with a dish and placing it down on the coffee table. Giles’s favorite teapot was filled to the brim with said soapy water. Jenny saw the expression on his face, then winced, genuinely apologetic. “Should I not have used that one for first-aid stuff? I just—yours were all up front, I didn’t want to keep you waiting just to prove I wanted to use mine—”

“Um, no, it’s, it’s fine,” said Giles, blushing more, which made his cheek feel even worse. “Just—this is very kind of you, Jenny, thank you.”

“Sure,” said Jenny, giving him a small smile as she pressed the cloth to his cheek. Involuntarily, Giles closed his eyes at her touch; though he was beginning to get accustomed to gentle touches, he still wasn’t quite able to stop himself from savoring them. He had been very alone this last decade.

Jenny’s hand wasn’t moving. Giles opened his eyes and saw that she was looking at him with shy apprehension. “I’m not usually this close to people,” she explained awkwardly. “It’s easier when we—I mean, when you—” She made a squiggly gesture with her free hand, then finished sheepishly, “Had a whole bunch of hot sex without knowing each other.”

“Ah,” said Giles, and tried not to laugh.

Jenny huffed. “It’s not funny!”

“No, it’s—it’s sweet,” said Giles, and meant it. He felt all fluttery, knowing that Jenny _knew_ him—not the Watcher bits, but the important bits. The parts of him that counted. “If it helps, I’m a bit off-kilter myself.”

“From the terrible book that attacked you?”

“Oh, completely,” said Giles. “I am a delicate man, Jenny.”

“I’m aware,” said Jenny, and he felt her fingers splay against his cheek, cupping his face like he was something precious. He had never been looked at like this before—as though he was worth protecting—and though he was certain that Jenny couldn’t possibly still be thinking about _protecting_ him _,_ it was what he _felt_ under the quiet, determined intensity of her gaze.

Just as he had become fully aware of how very close their faces were, Jenny startled, then began scrubbing gracelessly at his cheek with the wet cloth. “ _Ow,_ ” said Giles. “You could—be gentler, Jenny.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” said Jenny in a high voice, and turned her haphazard scrubbing into light patting. “God, sorry, just—sorry.”

“It’s all right,” said Giles, unable to keep a chuckle out of his voice. Jenny gave him an annoyed, good-natured smile in return.

* * *

 

“You and Ms. Calendar are _so cute,_ ” Buffy informed him the next day. “When did you two get married?”

“Over the summer,” said Giles, which was mostly the truth, “and I am not in the habit of discussing my personal life with my Slayer.” The abashed look on Buffy’s face made him immediately regret his cover-up, and he flushed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was harsh.”

“No kidding,” said Buffy, who looked rather injured by the brush-off.

Her genuine hurt made guilt twist in Giles’s stomach. She had asked a real question; she deserved a real answer. “It’s just that marital commitment is very new to me,” he said. “It isn’t something I’ve had much practice with, and it’s a bit frightening to get used to.” He glanced over at the open door to the computer lab as they passed. Jenny was laughing with a student, chatting about some homework assignment, and as she raised her hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, her wedding ring caught the sunlight. “A Watcher is supposed to spend his entire life alone,” he said. “Getting married is…a foolish, foolhardy thing to do.”

“I think it’s really brave,” said Buffy.

Giles stopped walking, turning to look at her. Buffy gave him this small, almost sad smile. “Her connection to me could end up hurting her,” he said quietly.

“Yeah, but you guys love each other,” said Buffy. “And let’s face it, Giles, this thing we’re doing is going to end up with both of us dead way before we’re supposed to be. You could have spent your whole life like my first Watcher, just thrown yourself into books and prophecies and stuff, but you’d never have ended up getting to be with someone as cool and funny as Ms. Calendar. She makes you super happy, and that’s…really, really awesome.”

There was a note of wistfulness to her voice, as though Buffy wished she could do things like grow up and get married. And it _hurt,_ all of a sudden, to know that Buffy was wrong about him; that this facsimile of a marriage was the closest Giles would get to wedded bliss. It didn’t seem fair for him to be her beacon of hope, but he couldn’t bring himself to destroy the look in her eyes. “I’m sure you’ll find that same happiness someday,” he said instead, and in much more gentle a tone than he usually used with Buffy.

It felt…right, somehow, to speak to Buffy like this. Better than the determinedly professional demeanor he’d been attempting, at least. The feeling of rightness solidified when he saw the sadness in Buffy’s eyes—not disappear, not exactly, but lessen. “You think?”

“I’m certain of it,” said Giles. “If a stuffy old academic can land a woman like Jenny Calendar, your prospects are _sparkling._ ”

That made Buffy laugh.


	7. the first date

Odd as it was, the memories of the night in Vegas didn’t satisfy Giles as much as they should have. This wasn’t something that he was used to. Generally, whether it was a fling or a serious relationship, the desire for closeness and intimacy wasn’t quite as overwhelming after the first time they had slept together. He and Jenny had consummated their marriage the night they met, and yet he felt a new, hopeless longing every time he looked at her, as though they hadn’t so much as held hands.

It took him three days to finally admit that it was because he hadn’t _known_ Jenny when they had been intimate. Clumsy or perfect, passionate or passionless, he still didn’t know what it would be like to go to bed with Jenny Calendar when he genuinely liked being around her. Things that had once been sources of annoyance had somehow stumbled into things that made him feel…fluttery. Soft. The strangest kind of settled.

But the fact remained that Giles was not at all willing to make any sort of amorous overture. Jenny had made it quite clear that his romantic advances would not be welcome or appreciated, and abusing his position as her husband was a reprehensible concept. Much as he hated existing in uncertain-relationship limbo, it seemed wholly safer than making his budding feelings known and making an already strained situation more difficult than it had to be.

This all flew out the window when Jenny entered his office and announced, “So! We should go on a date.”

“What,” said Giles weakly.

“A date,” said Jenny. “You know, going out, seeing the sights, fun stuff like that?”

“What,” said Giles again. It wasn’t really a question, he just couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Rupert, you _do_ know what a date is, don’t you?” Jenny was biting her lip, eyes sparkling. “Listen—”

“What does a date have to do with helping us look like we have real feelings for each other?” Giles asked with genuine confusion.

Jenny’s smile vanished. “Nothing,” she said. “You know what? Never mind. This was—stupid. It was stupid. It was a stupid idea that I thought would help us look married because why else would I ask you out on a date? No reason! Am I talking a lot? I’m talking a lot. I’m going to go teach class.” And before Giles could fully process what had just happened, she’d bolted, not even bothering to shut the door behind her.

She was moving so fast that she nearly knocked over Buffy, who probably would have fallen down if not for Slayer balance. As it was, Buffy had to grab the doorframe. “Jeez, Giles, you finally scare her off?” she quipped.

Giles ran through the sequence of events five times in his head. All the variables seemed to point to—but _no,_ she’d said she didn’t _want_ any romantic contact with him—

 _She said maybe,_ said an utterly unhelpful voice in the back of his head. _She said maybe she didn’t want that._

Regardless—

“Giles, you _do_ know you’re setting a world record for Most Easily Distracted Watcher, right?” Buffy tossed her bag onto the table, nearly knocking over one of the precarious stacks of books from the previous night’s research. “You and Ms. Calendar have, like, _the_ most disgustingly functional relationship ever. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Thank you,” said Giles, “I think.”

“So!” said Buffy brightly. “That ring we got off that vamp last night!”

“What?” Giles winced. “Oh! Yes.” Attempting to look appropriately Watcherly, he launched into a detailed explanation of the very limited information he had, and did _not_ think about how his romantically-challenged wife might have been trying to properly ask him out. Not in the slightest.

* * *

 

He really, really should have been translating, but the words were twisting on him every time he tried. _Doom and disaster_ became _date,_ and _ashes_ was _ask_ was _why would I ask you out,_ and _the Anointed One_ was _Jenny Calendar’s lips are extraordinarily kissable_ for some absolutely bloody unfathomable reason _._ By third period he was frustrated, by fourth he was vexed,and by lunch break, he was ready to snap. He was a _Watcher,_ damn it, and his responsibility was to the Slayer, not his wife’s extraordinarily kissable lips! And frankly, if he was focusing on a part of Jenny that was particularly kissable, it wouldn’t be her lips, it would be—

And there he was, yet again thinking about Jenny in a way that was _thoroughly_ inappropriate for the workplace. “Splendid,” said Giles to the ceiling. “This is my life now.”

“You okay?”

Giles turned in his chair so fast that he overbalanced and fell out of it.

“Oh, god, I’m starting to understand why I have to fix you up so often,” said Jenny with a rueful laugh, kneeling down next to him and gently tugging at his hands. “Rupert? Don’t die on me, okay? I really don’t want to have to tell the morgue guys that you died falling out of your chair.”

“ _Truly_ an undignified death,” said Giles, his thoughts still on the prophecy that needed translating. “Listen, Jenny, I—”

“No, I, um, that was my bad,” said Jenny, smiling sheepishly. “I sprung that one on you and ran.” She exhaled, looking a little embarrassed, and sat on the floor, waiting for Giles to pull himself up. When he was sitting next to her, she said, “I don’t—um, I haven’t—”

“Yes?”

Jenny was looking at her slightly scuffed shoes. Fiddling with the hem of her sleeve, she said carefully, “I don’t think anyone’s ever comforted me the way you did last week.”

Giles wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. It took him a moment to finally figure it out. “The last time someone fussed over my injuries was when I was ten years old,” he said. “After that, it was all _toughen up, Rupert, be a man._ ” And be a Watcher, too, but he didn’t say that. “I give largely what I receive, Jenny,” he said, “and while this—this whole marriage situation has been a trying situation for the both of us, you’ve handled it admirably and kindly.”

Jenny raised an eyebrow.

“Combatively yet compassionately,” Giles amended.

“That sounds _way_ more on the nose than _admirably and kindly,_ ” said Jenny, looking up at him with a wobbly grin.

“Your asking me out took me by surprise,” Giles finished, “but…it’s not something I’m opposed to, if that’s what you want.”

“I think what I’m trying to get at is that I don’t know what I want,” said Jenny quietly. “This is a _weird_ situation, Rupert. It’s hard enough for me to figure out how I feel about a person even _without_ being fake-married to them, and…I thought maybe a date might help clarify things. For both of us.”

“That makes a startling amount of sense,” said Giles, surprised.

“Is me having a good idea _that_ startling to you?” teased Jenny, leaning against him. Tentatively, Giles rested an arm around her shoulders, and his heart leapt when she didn’t pull away. “So, um, is tonight good?”

 _Tonight._ All of a sudden, the words Giles had been poring over finally clicked together in his brain. _The evening of the thousandth day of the advent of Septus—_ “Tonight’s no good,” he said weakly.

“Oh.” The hurt note in Jenny’s voice tugged Giles away from thoughts of the latest prophecy and solidly back to her. “Um. Okay. I mean, if—”

“No, Jenny, I, I still _want_ to go out with you,” Giles said hastily, “it’s just that I was rather distracted by our conversation, and I need to catch up on the work I missed. Tomorrow would be lovely, or perhaps the day after—?”

Jenny blinked, then smiled _._ “Yeah, okay,” she said. “Tomorrow. Only you’d better not come home tonight all banged up, England, because we’re running _way_ low on Band-Aids.”

“All right,” said Giles.

“Okay,” said Jenny.

He squeezed her shoulder. She surprised him by winding her arms around his neck, tugging him into a gentle hug.

“Uh,” said Willow, who had just come up to the open doorway.

“God, are they _still_ in there being weird?” came Buffy’s voice from the library. “You’d think they’d take, like, a two-second break between classes or something.”

“Sounds like you’ve got business to attend to,” said Jenny to Giles, giving Willow a little grin. Willow gave Jenny a bemused smile back, then turned to hurry and chat more with Buffy about—a boy? Giles couldn’t make it out, and didn’t really care, because Jenny was now turning back to him. “I should go,” she said. “Leave you to your job thing.”

“Ah, yes, my _job thing,_ ” said Giles dryly. “How utterly American of you—” He was cut off by his own blush as Jenny pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, and could only watch as she pulled herself up and exited the library with grace.

He sat there feeling all fluttery for a good two seconds, before he remembered exactly what the Aurelian prophecy had said. Wincing a little, he pulled himself up to enter the library. “Willow, Buffy, it’s, it’s good that you’re here,” he said, still a bit flustered. _Good lord, Giles, pull yourself together._ “There is a violent and disturbing prophecy about to be fulfilled.”

Buffy, who had already been opening her mouth with a teasing look in her eyes, froze. “The Order of Aurelius?” she asked.

“You were spot-on about the connection,” Giles confirmed grimly. “I've looked at the writings of Aurelius himself, and he prophesied that the brethren of his order would come to the Master and bring him the Anointed.”

“Who's that?” asked Willow.

Giles _really_ wished he hadn’t been so distracted while he was translating. “Well, I-I don't know exactly,” he managed, “a warrior, but it says he will rise from the ashes of the Five on the evening of the thousandth day after the Advent of Septus.” This, at least, he’d finally figured out.

“Well, we'll be ready whenever it is,” said Buffy with conviction.

“Which is tonight,” Giles clarified.

Buffy took this in. “Tonight, okay…” She stopped, eyes wide with horror. “Not okay! It can't be tonight!”

“I can check again,” said Giles apprehensively, blinked, remembered that the calculations had been the _one_ part he’d managed to do correctly, and hastily added, “but it’ll produce the same results, Buffy, my calculations are quite precise.”

“You were getting all smoochy with your wife in your office!” Buffy persisted, a plaintive whine in her voice. “There’s no _way_ your calculations could be _perfect,_ Giles!”

“Buffy has a really important date,” Willow explained.

“Owen!” Buffy added for clarification.

The name rang a bell. Owen Thurman, one of the seven people outside Buffy and her cohorts who had actually entered the library to check out a book. “Ah,” said Giles, not entirely sure what to do in this situation. When he himself had spent the last two hours thinking about Jenny to the detriment of his translations, it seemed a double standard to tell Buffy off for ignoring her destiny in favor of a date. “Well—it—the—prophecy,” he managed lamely, “is obviously more—important?”

“You don’t sound too sure about that, Giles,” said Buffy, seeing his indecision and (as usual) attempting to utilize it. “I mean, come on, weren’t you just asking your super amazing wife out on a date two seconds ago?”

“You heard that?” said Giles without thinking, then went flaming red. “She asked _me,_ ” he added, then winced; he seemed to be digging himself a bigger hole.

“My point exactly,” said Buffy, looking up at him with large puppy eyes—a more effective weapon than any quarterstaff, and Giles resented it. “I can totally just take down this Anointed guy whenever he shows up, right? You get a whole bunch of kisses from Ms. Calendar, I _hopefully_ get a whole bunch of kisses from Owen—”

That did it. “There will be no—no _kisses_ ,” said Giles too loudly, “and no _dates,_ there is an _important prophecy_ that, if not thwarted, could lead to the deaths of those we cherish!”

“Whoa, Giles, cherish?” said Buffy, eyebrows raised. “I just wanna go on a date.” She blinked, then beamed. “Aww, do you wanna protect Ms. Calendar from the Anointed? That’s so cute!”

“They’re so cute,” Willow added, grinning in agreement.

Giles _really_ didn’t want his day or his Watcher responsibilities to go on another Jenny-related tangent. “If my affection for my wife motivates you to _actually listen to what I’m saying,_ ” he persisted, “then by all means, do continue to appreciate it. But the point remains that the dark forces are aligning against us, and we have a chance to beat them back. Tonight, we go into battle—”

* * *

 

“Perhaps I miscalculated,” said Giles dismally.

“I’m thinking yeah,” said Buffy, who was still visibly glowering.

Giles was beginning to feel very foolish. He could have had a lovely date with Jenny, and instead here he was, sitting in a graveyard with an extremely irritable Buffy Summers. “Well, you know what they say,” he said, trying to keep the conversation light and optimistic. “Ninety percent of the vampire slaying game is waiting.”

“You couldn't have told me that ninety percent ago?” Buffy muttered.

Resigned, Giles pulled himself up. “Well,” he said, “we've certainly waited here long enough.”

“Besides, there aren't any fresh graves,” Buffy added pointedly. “Who's gonna rise?”

“Apparently no one tonight,” said Giles sheepishly.

The effect this had on Buffy was utterly astounding. Her ill-tempered demeanor forgotten, she jumped to her feet, all but bouncing. “Then I can bail?” she asked excitedly. “I can go to the Bronze and find Owen?”

“Oh, very well then,” said Giles, feeling a bit irritable himself. “Follow your hormones if you want.” As Buffy began to head away, he added, “But I assume I don't have to warn you about the hazards of becoming personally involved with someone who's unaware of your unique condition.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow. “You’re one to talk,” she scoffed, looking affronted. “You _married_ someone who doesn’t know you’re a Watcher.”

Giles felt her statement more deeply than he probably should have. The situation with Jenny was rapidly becoming much more complex than a fake marriage, and the things he kept from her were beginning to weigh much more heavily than they had any right to. He was doing the right thing, he _knew_ that— “I keep things from Jenny for her protection,” he said, but it didn’t sound as convincing as it had when he’d first said it.

Buffy seemed to sense that change as well, because she didn’t press him further. “Well, I can do that for Owen too,” she said, and actually reached out to gently pat his shoulder. It was a surprisingly sweet gesture, especially coming from a girl who yawned her way through his lectures on duty and destiny. Buffy, Giles was beginning to realize, had different ways of showing that she cared, and not necessarily academically-minded ones. “And from what I can tell, Giles, you’re doing a great job keeping her safe. A whole handful of people have already died in the last month, but Ms. Calendar hasn’t even gotten a scrape, so—that seems pretty okay to me.”

“You think so?” said Giles, surprised by how much he had needed to hear something like that.

“I know so,” said Buffy. “Now can I _please_ go find Owen?”

Despite himself, Giles smiled a bit. “All right,” he said. “Go find Owen.” He was, of course, bothered by the prophecy not coming to fruition, but he could look over it again tomorrow with his head a bit less muddled. After all, with things going so well with Jenny and Buffy alike, it was quite possible that there was a _lot_ less to worry about.

* * *

 

This possibility was smashed to bits about twenty-four hours later.

“Rupert,” said Jenny impatiently, shifting from one foot to the other by the door, _“what_ is so important in that paper?”

“Damn it all to hell,” Giles muttered, grabbing a red pen and circling the headline, then shoving the newspaper into his bag. Turning from the dining room table, he felt a twist of sadness as he saw that Jenny had dressed up, leather jacket thrown over a long red dress—she’d even done up her hair. “Listen, Jenny, I, I need to run a quick errand before we—it’s a work responsibility, you must understand—”

Jenny’s impatience seemed to dissipate at that. “You look so upset about it,” she said with a rueful affection, stepping up to him and gently straightening his tie. “It’s okay. Just—” Her eyes lit up. “Hey, I could come with you!” At Giles’s look, she laughed, letting her hand drift to rest on his shoulder. “Don’t get all panicky, Rupert, I don’t need to get out of the car or anything, I just—if you’re running errands, it could be nice to have company, right?”

Giles considered this. It was true that bringing Jenny along wasn’t the _wisest_ idea, but selfishly, he rather liked the thought of having her in the car. Really, he only needed to check in with Buffy, and then he could—oh _no._

“Rupert?”

“My judgment is compromised,” said Giles helplessly.

Jenny frowned a little. “Okay, weirdo,” she said, and patted his shoulder. “Are we heading out to the car?”

Giles tried to remember the many, many reasons why his job as a Watcher was a thousand times more important than Jenny. He’d been so sure of all of them, those first few weeks of their marriage, when Jenny was turning the house upside down and yelling at him about computers, but…he _cared_ about her. He hadn’t expected that to ever happen, and it was throwing him thoroughly off guard.

“We’re heading out to the car,” he said with finality. This sense of utter discombobulation would exist whether or not he and Jenny went on their date; he wasn’t about to heap missing her company right on top of it.

Jenny beamed. “Great!” she said, and opened the door, extending her arm. Surprised, Giles took it. “So are you gonna tell me where we’re going, or do I get to guess?”

“We’re going to Buffy’s,” said Giles, letting her lead him out the door and shut it behind them.

Jenny’s smile flickered; she looked almost suspicious. “Buffy’s?” she said. “At this hour?”

“Good _lord,_ Jenny,” said Giles, going bright red. “Do you really think I would be inappropriately involved with a student?”

His reaction seemed to satisfy Jenny. Her mouth twitched. “No, I really didn’t,” she said. “It’d be a pretty stupid move to bring me if you were. So why are we off to Buffy’s?”

“She’s got nearly seventy-five dollars in overdue book fees and she’s been skirting the subject,” said Giles, the lie coming surprisingly effortlessly. He didn’t like how easily he’d become accustomed to lying to Jenny, but the fate of the world _did_ depend on it, more often than not. “I thought I’d talk to her mum, see if that helps encourage them both to pay up.”

“So we’re the library mafia?”

Startled into laughter, Giles nearly tripped on his way down the porch, and had to grab onto the rail behind Jenny to steady himself. She was laughing too, reaching up to grip his lapels, and—god, it was intoxicating being this close to her. A strand of loose hair had fallen out of her updo, and without thinking, he tucked it gently behind her ear. “Here,” he murmured.

Jenny’s eyelashes fluttered, her smile becoming something almost lazily flirtatious. “I could just stay like this,” she said, tilting her head up to look at him. “Just right here.”

He knew what she was saying, but—apocalypse, prophecy, Anointed One—Giles pulled himself reluctantly away. “Just this one library book,” he said. “After that, Jenny, I’m all yours.”

He did his best not to think about what _that_ insinuated. It didn’t really work.

* * *

 

Getting out of the car, Giles glanced one last time at Jenny, who was cheerfully flipping through the comics section of the newspaper in the front seat. She gave him a little wave as he walked up to Buffy’s house; it left him feeling even more confused.

It was certainly true that his priorities should first and foremost rest with the fate of the world, and even truer that a Watcher could not afford to place love before duty. He knew these facts intimately and couldn’t bring himself to dispute them, but another, more prevalent fact had arisen: saving the world meant more to him with Jenny in it. Jenny, who didn’t know him as a Watcher, only as her fake husband and verbal sparring partner. He had never really had someone in his life who hadn’t somehow been linked either to the Council or to magic, and having her, now, indisputably added more weight to the importance of saving the world. Protecting Jenny meant protecting the possibility of—

Of bandages after patrol and laughing in faculty meetings and holding someone tight. Of not feeling like some chess piece in an endless battle that would inevitably cost him his life. Being a Watcher had given Giles direction, but the people in Sunnydale were beginning to give him a purpose. It went against everything the Council said, and yet he couldn’t deny that it was making him a much more aware and effective mentor figure to Buffy.

Still quite confused, Giles rang the doorbell. There was the thudding sound of feet on the stairs, and then, flanked by Willow and Xander, Buffy opened the door, her face falling almost comically when she saw him. “ _That’s_ Giles,” she said.

“We need to talk,” said Giles simply.

“Buffy’s not home,” Buffy began, trying to shut the door, but Giles managed to squeeze through before she could.

“My calculations may not have been as far off as I thought,” Giles explained, rummaging in his bag to hold up the newspaper.

 _“Five Die in Van Accident?”_ Buffy read, frowning.

“Out of the ashes of five shall rise the one,” Giles continued. “That's the prophecy. Five people have died!”

“In a car crash,” said Buffy doubtfully.

“I know it doesn't quite follow,” Giles conceded, “but it’s at least worth investigating.” He pointed a bit lower in the article. “Look! Among the dead was Andrew Borba, whom the police sought for questioning in a double murder. Now, he may be the Anointed One. The bodies have been taken to Sunnydale Funeral Home—”

“Giles, why do you wanna hurt me?” Buffy interrupted.

As usual, Buffy defied any logical expectations. “I beg your pardon?” said Giles, bemused.

“Hey!” came a voice from the open door, and Owen Thurman stepped through, looking a little confused to see Giles there. “Uh, hi.”

Giles stared. “You have a date?”

“Yes, but I will return those overdue books by tomorr—” Buffy stopped, then frowned, squinting at a point over Giles’s shoulder. “Giles,” she said slowly, “is that your wife in the car?”

Giles turned very slowly, then winced. Leaning out the front seat’s open window, Jenny was watching the proceedings with affectionate interest. He made frantic motions for her to go back inside, but she must have misinterpreted them, because she responded with a small wave and a grin in Buffy’s direction.

“That is my wife in the car,” he said heavily.

“So it would be fair to assume that _you_ have a date?” Buffy finished.

“Um, what’s going on?” Owen asked. Willow and Xander tugged him into the other room.

“And you think you can just show up, dump this stuff on me, and leave?” Buffy persisted indignantly. “That’s _so_ not fair! Especially since this stuff isn’t even _anything—”_

“Buffy, Jenny has been asking why I’m not around to spend time with her,” Giles tried to explain.

“Yeah, well, that’s the gig,” said Buffy, chin jutting firmly out, arms tightly crossed. “Sometimes you have to throw your awesome, perfect, fairytale date out the window for a lead that isn’t even really a lead. If you think this is something to follow up on, Giles, _you_ do it, but I spent a whole night in that cemetery and _nothing_ happened and I _need_ a day off!”

Giles looked at the genuine upset in her eyes. He imagined what it might be like to be feeling the complexities and sadness of not being able to tell Jenny what he wanted to tell her, but as a sixteen-year-old. Really, he thought, Buffy was doing much better than he gave her credit for, and she _did_ deserve a day off after he’d put her through so much the night before. “I suppose it was a rather slim lead,” he allowed, giving her an apologetic smile. “And you’re right. It isn’t fair for me to demand hard work from you while I’m going out with Jenny.”

Buffy _immediately_ uncrossed her arms, once again bouncing delightedly on her toes. _“Thank you thank you thank you!”_ she gushed. “And look, I won't go far, okay? If the apocalypse comes, beep me.”

“Is everything cool?” Owen asked, rounding the corner with Willow and Xander.

“All set!” Buffy chirped.

“Yes, and, uh, you'll face a pretty hefty fine in the morning,” said Giles lamely.

“Well, bye,” said Buffy brightly. “Don't wait up.” Owen at her side, she hurried out the door.

“Is something going on?” Willow asked.

“Oh, uh, probably not, no,” said Giles dismally. He had very much been looking forward to a date with Jenny, but Buffy was right. He ought to set a less hypocritical example. “I suppose I'll just go to the funeral home in case, see if anything comes up.” Without waiting for a response from the children, he exited the house, hurrying down the porch steps and over to his car.

“I’m guessing we’re _not_ going on that date,” said Jenny, studying his expression a little sadly. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to make a quick stop at the Sunnydale Funeral Home,” Giles explained.

Jenny was now giving him a very exasperated look. “That is _not_ a safe place to be, Rupert,” she said. “Why would you—I mean, what would—what did Buffy _say_ to you that would make you think—”

“There was a news report,” Giles explained. “Five dead in a van accident. For research purposes—”

“I’m coming with you,” said Jenny.

“What—Jenny, _no,_ I will _not_ have you willfully putting yourself in danger like that!”

“Oh, and you get to do it whenever you want?” Jenny was full-on scowling. “It’s dark out, this town has a _history_ of unexplained murders, and you tell me you’re going to a _funeral home?_ Stick with those cemeteries I gave you and move on!”

Giles bit back a retort that her cemeteries were _pointless_ to a Watcher, that they were all on sacred ground that made it _impossible_ for any vampire to rise, and that he was a damn sight more prepared for a vampire than _she_ was, especially since she didn’t even know what a vampire really _was._ “I’m going,” he said instead.

“Well, you’re not going alone,” said Jenny stubbornly, and to Giles’s surprise, she reached out through the open window, taking his hand with surprising gentleness. “You have a wife now, England, and I go where you go, okay?”

And there was something in her eyes that tugged at a lost, lonely part of Giles, the same part that leaned into her touch whenever she was bandaging him up after patrol. No one had ever wanted to go where he went. No one had ever looked at him like he was worth following—only told him that they would lead. He was possibly the most irresponsible, most utterly thoughtless husband on the planet for continuing to place Jenny in the line of fire, but having someone as kind and wonderful as her look at him like that…it was enough to make him say, softly, “Yes, dear,” without even thinking about it.

* * *

 

The Sunnydale Funeral Home was empty, but something had Giles’s Watcher senses on high alert as he stopped the car. “Stay here,” he said, getting out, slinging his bag of supplies over his shoulder, and crossing to the other side. He certainly _hoped_ that it was just nerves, but there was still a pervasive sense that he was being watched—

He thought he heard a noise at his right, and turned, heart in his throat, but there was nothing. Relaxing a bit, he turned back towards the funeral home and found himself face-to-face with a vampire. To his shock, it hissed, an angry, primal sound, and stumbled back, holding its hands up in front of its face as though Giles were holding up…

…a cross.

Turning slowly, Giles saw Jenny, who was holding up a silver cross with a determined expression on her face. She grabbed his hand with her free one and pulled him roughly past the vampire, brandishing the cross as she shoved Giles through the half-open funeral home doors. “Get in!” she shouted, and followed suit, slamming the door shut behind them.

Giles was too stunned to remember to be afraid. “Jenny,” he said slowly, swaying a bit where he stood, “what—how did you—”

“Rupert, it’s okay, I’ve got this,” said Jenny quietly, gripping his shoulder to steady him. Without offering an explanation, she tucked the cross back into her jacket pocket, pulling out a slightly smaller cross on a chain. Quickly, she pulled the chain over Giles’s head, adjusting the cross so that it rested just above his chest. “Did you see their faces?”

“I—what?” Giles managed, still utterly confused.

“Okay, we’re gonna go with ‘no,’” Jenny quipped, smiling a little wryly.

There was a growl from behind them. Without hesitation, Jenny grabbed his hand again, all but towing him behind her and through the dark, winding hallways. Giles stumbled to keep up, slowed mostly by his whirling, panicked thoughts. Jenny with a cross, Jenny using a cross against vampires, Jenny steadying him—he was missing a piece of the puzzle, he felt _sure_ of it.

Jenny pushed him roughly into an empty room, slamming the door shut behind her. Giles regained enough of his sense to first toss his bag onto the table and then help her in barricading the door with a heavy filing cabinet. It was clear that the door would remain shut for the time being, but not forever, and Jenny seemed to be coming to the same conclusions. “You’re okay?” she asked, raising a gentle hand to his face.

Giles felt a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn’t like looking at his wife with such suspicion. “Fine,” he said. “Completely.”

The filing cabinet rattled. Over Jenny’s head, Giles caught sight of Xander and Willow at the barred windows, their eyes wide and worried. _Get Buffy,_ he mouthed in their direction. Xander mouthed back _what?_ Willow, however, nodded, pulling Xander away.

“We need to hide,” said Jenny shakily, looking around the room. “Those guys don’t—they don’t mess around. Believe me, you and I are in _no_ way a match for them.”

“I entirely agree,” said Giles distantly.

Jenny pulled open one of the morgue drawers. “Get in,” she said.

“Jenny—”

“Get _in,_ Rupert, I can’t—please, just, please don’t argue with me right now, I _don’t_ want you getting hurt!” Jenny burst out.

The panicked, half-sobbing note to her voice made Giles take another, slower look at her. There were a lot of emotions in Jenny’s eyes at that moment, but not a single one looked anything _close_ to a dishonest woman. “Jenny,” he said, his voice softening. “Do you think I can’t handle myself?”

Jenny took a long look at him, and then she grabbed the front of his shirt, whirling him around and all but shoving him in the direction of the morgue drawer. Giles fell onto the metal, the back of his head hitting the drawer hard. Involuntarily, he grabbed Jenny’s hands, pulling her on top of him and into the drawer just before the momentum of her shove caused the morgue drawer to pull itself in, then slam shut again with them inside.

Too many things had happened too fast for Giles to process anything.

“I _don’t,_ ” said Jenny in the dark. She sounded near tears. “I _don’t_ think you’re totally helpless. I just, I care about you, and this town is such a big, scary place, and you’re a sweet, incredible, wonderful person, and you always have to make things ridiculously fucking complicated, going out by yourself all the time and showing up all bruised, you scare the _hell_ out of me, Rupert,” her babbling was reaching frightening volumes, especially since Giles had heard the _crash_ of the filing cabinet hitting the floor and they were probably ten seconds away from being discovered, “and god, I know you probably think I think you’re helpless, but I don’t, I think you’re too damn smart for your own good—”

Giles couldn’t think of a way to keep her quiet for long enough to keep them both undiscovered. Coupled with the fact that, this close, she smelled of coffee and magic, and that he had just learned that his kind, wonderful wife wanted to protect him from the vampires outside because she _cared_ about him, the conclusion he came to was both inevitable and very stupid. Grabbing Jenny’s face in one hand, he kissed her as hard as he could, winding his other arm around her waist to pull her tightly against him.

He was expecting her to pull back. He was expecting her to pull back, or stiffen in his arms, or hit him as hard as she could without making a sound, because no one was watching them and there was _no_ reason for him to be acting like they were actually a couple. What he _wasn’t_ expecting was for her to shift until her legs were all but twined around his waist, tangle her hands in his hair, and kiss him back like she’d been waiting to kiss him for the last three months.

And all of a sudden, Giles wasn’t thinking about vampires, or prophecies, or any of the things he should by all rights be thinking about: all that was in his mind was a desperate _Jenny Jenny Jenny_ and it seemed almost unending. He wanted to flip her over, press her against the metal, but she had all the leverage and that was oh so excellent too, and oh, oh god, she was kissing his neck, clumsily unbuttoning his shirt, and he was gasping and moaning and she was hurriedly moving up to silence his mouth with another series of breathless kisses—

The morgue drawer door banged open, they were pulled back out and into the light, and Giles heard Buffy say, very loudly, “Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me!”

Jenny’s lips stilled against Giles’s. Slowly, she pulled herself up and away, and then Giles was staring up at the morgue’s ceiling while Jenny got up and awkwardly dusted herself off. “Buffy,” she was saying. “What—uh, what are you doing here?”

“I hang out in weird places sometimes, _I’m_ a teenager!” Buffy retorted, staring at both of them with horrified eyes. “ _Why were you getting it on with Giles in a morgue drawer?”_

“What I do with my husband after school lets out is my business,” replied Jenny without missing a beat. “Besides which, you can’t tell me this is the weirdest thing you’ve seen in Sunnydale.”

“Oh, it one _hundred_ percent is,” said Buffy disbelievingly. “What, do you and Giles get freaky in crypts too? _God,_ I think I finally get why he likes you.”

Giles made as much noise as possible as he got up from the morgue drawer, which did a thankfully effective job of distracting Jenny from Buffy’s statement. “Um, Jenny, I, I believe that the fellows chasing us are gone now,” he managed. “You should probably head home—”

“And will you be heading home with me?” Jenny asked pointedly.

Giles looked helplessly over at Buffy, who gave him a very clear _this is your problem, not mine_ look. “In a moment,” he said finally. “I just need to have a private word with Miss Summers regarding what is and is not an appropriate place to, ah, _hang out._ ”

Jenny considered this, then nodded. “I’ll wait outside,” she said, fingering her cross, and headed in the direction of the door. Halfway across the morgue, she stopped, considered, turned, crossed the room again, and kissed Giles, a solid, purposeful kiss that left him with a fluttery feeling in his stomach. _Then_ she left.

“I need to bleach my brain,” Buffy informed him. “Seriously. I could hear _moaning,_ Giles, that was _not_ okay.”

Giles decided to ignore this as best he could. “Yes, w-well, two more of the brethren came after us,” he managed.

“After you and your honey, or after the prophecy?” Buffy asked, frowning.

“That’s what we have to find out,” said Giles. “I don't know what these brethren mean to do exactly. Find the Anointed, or—give him something perhaps. It’s all very vague. And the Anointed may be long gone.”

“But he may not be,” said Buffy grimly.

“We must find out,” Giles agreed.

Buffy nodded, then added, “I just need to get Owen and the others out of the way first.”

“Owen?” said Giles. “You brought a date?”

In answer, Buffy pointed indignantly in the direction of the still-open morgue drawer.

“That, that was, extenuating, she wouldn’t stop talking, she’s very—” Giles gave up on trying to explain and pulled out a handkerchief, working instead on cleaning his glasses.

“And for the record,” Buffy added, _“I_ didn't bring him, he came. I’ll take care of it.”

“You can't make him go out there alone, we don't know where the brethren are,” Giles objected, replacing his glasses, and then realized with a sinking feeling that this statement applied to Jenny as well. “Damn,” he muttered. “I’ll search the morgue for the Anointed and keep an eye on Jenny. You—figure out some way to get Owen out.”

“On it,” Buffy agreed, rounding the corner.

Giles then did the quickest morgue search he could manage while Jenny was still waiting for him. As he was opening the second to last drawer, she came back in, still looking a bit pink. “Rupert, I know you’re all about the badly-timed research,” she said nervously, “but now seems like the time to make a speedy exit.”

Good lord. How was he supposed to keep Jenny here? “I have one more drawer—” Giles began lamely.

 _“Rupert,_ ” said Jenny.

Giles gave up. There was only one clear way to distract Jenny enough to keep her in the morgue. Trying his best not to think too much about what she might think it meant, he crossed the room, taking her in his arms and pressing her gently against the wall. “I’d like to talk about that kiss,” he said, trying to bring back his flirty-confident voice from his Ripper days. He wasn’t quite sure if he managed it.

Jenny raised a hand, tracing his jawline. “Yeah?”

“I’d like to kiss you again,” said Giles, hearing his voice dip lower.

Jenny’s eyes fluttered shut, lips parted, her breathing picking up. She didn’t answer.

“Jenny?”

“Yes,” said Jenny. “Yes, _please,_ ” and somehow, even though she was the one up against the wall, it was _her_ grabbing _him_ and pulling him in for another kiss. It wasn’t as brutal, nor as desperate; this kiss, while still dizzyingly passionate, was softer and less urgent than the other. As she pulled back to catch her breath, Giles just _had_ to nuzzle her neck, letting her hair tickle his cheek as he pressed his lips to her throat. “Rupert, we have to _go,”_ she was whispering, but she didn’t sound all that convinced, and honestly, Giles wasn’t either. Outside this night, he wouldn’t ever be this daring, or this bold, and really, what was the point of leaving this moment for one where Jenny Calendar wasn’t squirming as he kissed a spot just above her collarbone?

There was the clatter of footsteps. This time, Giles thankfully had enough presence of mind to pull away from Jenny before Buffy entered. Without a word to him, she rummaged through his bag of supplies, finally pulling out a stake and beginning to hurry away. She then turned, giving Giles a pointed, panicked look, and said, “Make sure the others are okay.”

It was in this moment that Andrew Borba came up behind Buffy, throwing her into a cabinet. She fell to the ground.

“Buffy!” Giles shouted.

Before he could do anything, Jenny had shoved herself in front of him, again brandishing the cross. “Stay back!” she shouted, but Giles could see her hand shaking.

Borba shuddered. “Why does he hurt me?” he demanded, and slapped the cross out of Jenny’s hand, picking her up and throwing her into the crematory controls. Giles didn’t have a moment to register what had happened, because Borba was picking him up too, throwing him in the same general direction as Jenny—

* * *

 

“Ow,” Giles managed.

“Ugh,” Jenny added, smiling a little tiredly, and rested her cheek against his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Quite,” said Giles. He’d only just managed to slam the crematory door shut in time for Borba to burn. “Um, Buffy—?” But Buffy was preoccupied with Owen.

“So, uh, weird night,” said Jenny. Giles caught sight of Willow glancing over her shoulder as she and Xander led Owen out. He tried to direct a reassuring smile in her direction, but his head ached far too badly for him to really manage it. “Can we go home now?”

“Oh, completely,” said Giles, pulling himself awkwardly up with Jenny still leaning against him. “Buffy? Jenny and I will be seeing ourselves home.”

Buffy nodded, but she didn’t quite seem to notice as he and Jenny left.

* * *

 

The cross necklace that Jenny had given Giles was an antique, one carved with covert and meticulous symbols. Research revealed that these symbols were all protection runes, all of them meant to repel demons and vampires and the like, and most of them surprisingly effective in doing so. Obviously, a Watcher couldn’t wear a demon-repelling cross on patrol; that rather defeated the purpose of getting close enough to kill them. It did, however, lend some new clarity to exactly why every single one of the cemeteries Jenny had sent him to had been on ground where vampires wouldn’t rise, as well as why her face tightened every time she said he would be staying late at school.

Giles ran multiple magical tests on the cross necklace. Absolutely all of them said the same thing: that the necklace was an item meant solely to protect. And while that did answer any questions he might have had about Jenny’s feelings towards him, it didn’t at all explain her knowledge of vampires, or exactly what she was really doing in Sunnydale.


	8. the unsuitable husband

“You’re kidding, right?” said Buffy. “You want to know if my Slayer sense is picking up on anything spooky about Ms. _Calendar?_ As in your wife who sometimes brings us pizza Ms. Calendar? As in Willow’s favorite teacher Ms. Calendar? As in—”

“—yes, yes, my wife is incredible, I just wanted to _check,_ ” said Giles irritably, who was beginning to realize how ill-conceived his idea of asking Buffy’s opinion had been. “There have been a few…oddities…in our relationship as of late—”

“No one needs to hear about your sex life, Giles,” said Buffy, wincing a little. “Frankly, I’ve seen enough of it to know I _never_ want to hear about it.”

“Buffy, I most certainly would not be discussing those portions of my life with you,” said Giles flatly. “Ever.”

“Why? Too busy  _having sex in a morgue drawer?”_

This sort of thing was _exactly_ why Giles would prefer death over telling Buffy about his drunken Vegas marriage. “We weren’t—never mind,” he said, hoping against hope that he didn’t look as flustered as he felt. “My point is that the way Jenny reacted to vampires was rather unusual, and I thought your Slayer sense might be of some use in ascertaining whether—”

“You trust me?” Buffy beamed, flipping her hair over one shoulder. She looked genuinely touched.

Giles sighed. “Quite,” he said.

Buffy rolled her eyes a little. “Then trust me when I say I get _no_ bad vibes from Ms. Calendar,” she said. “The only thing spooky about your wife is that she’s spooky cool.” She giggled at her own bad joke, then added, “And anyway, Giles, I came in here to tell you that I think Xander’s being possessed by something. He’s been hanging with the mean kids, teasing the kids nobody likes, and he’s dressing _super_ weird!”

Giles looked at her for a long second. Then he said with some disbelief, “So your slayer sense tells you that _Xander_ is being possessed?”

“Uh huh!” Buffy nodded impatiently.

“He’s taken to teasing the less fortunate?” Giles began, echoing Buffy’s words.

“He has.”

“And there's been a noticeable change in both clothing and demeanor?”

“Yep,” Buffy agreed.

“And his spare time is spent lounging about with imbeciles,” Giles finished.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Buffy asked anxiously.

“It's devastating,” Giles agreed matter-of-factly. “He's turned into a sixteen-year-old boy. Course, you'll have to kill him.”

Buffy glared. “Giles, I’m serious!”

“So am I!” Giles objected, then amended, “Except for the part about killing him.” Off Buffy’s frustrated look, he explained, “Testosterone is a great equalizer. It turns all men into morons. He will, however, get over it.”

“I cannot believe that you, of all people, are trying to Scully me!” Buffy began.

“Who’s trying to Scully who?” came Jenny’s voice, and Giles winced. “Oh, _Rupert._ That makes sense.”

To Giles’s absolute horror, Buffy turned to Jenny, gave her an assessing look, and said, “Ms. Calendar, you know stuff about weird stuff going on in Sunnydale, right?”

Jenny blinked, flushing. “Wh-what?”

“You know that this town isn’t exactly what it looks like,” Buffy persisted.

“Buffy, don’t—” Giles began.

But Jenny held up a hand, eyes on Buffy. “What are you getting at?” she said almost warily.

“I think something’s going on with Xander,” said Buffy seriously. “I think he’s in trouble. He’s been acting _super_ weird and I don’t know why—”

“Buffy, boys can be cruel,” Giles cut in, exasperated. “They tease, they prey on the weak. It’s—”

“Don’t boys-will-be-boys this situation,” said Jenny sharply. “Buffy, keep going.”

Buffy, however, had a strange expression on her face. “Wait,” she said. “Giles, what did you say?”

“They…tease?” Giles said tentatively.

“They prey on the weak,” said Buffy slowly. “I’ve heard that before. Where have I—” She stopped, eyes wide, then stared. “Xander has been acting totally wiggy ever since we went to the zoo!” she burst out. “Him and Kyle and all those guys, they went into the hyena cage. Oh, God, that laugh...”

Giles opened his mouth to point out how very unlikely it was that Xander had been turned into a hyena (or perhaps just start giggling), but Jenny was frowning a little. “Buffy, can we talk for a sec?” she asked, sounding a little uneasy. “This might not be a conversation we should—I mean—” Her eyes darted to Giles.

“Whatever you have to say to Buffy can _certainly_ be said in front of me,” said Giles indignantly.

“I don’t know about that,” said Jenny.

“If it’s about the weird supernatural stuff, _definitely_ say it in front of him,” said Buffy pointedly. “I said all this stuff to him and he _totally_ brushed me off!”

 _“Rupert,_ ” said Jenny reprovingly.

Giles exhaled, frustrated. “Buffy’s evidence is spotty at best!” he persisted. “In most of these ultimately unproven cases—”

Jenny was getting the same look in her eyes that she’d gotten when Giles had inadvertently (and then intentionally) insulted computers. “No,” she said. “You know what? Buffy’s right. This town is weird. Weird stuff happens. And I’m certainly not brushing off a concerned student. Whether or not Buffy’s right about Xander and some other kids being taken over by a hyena, the fact still remains that as a faculty member, it is absolutely my job to take a look at whatever is worrying Buffy.” She fixed Giles with a pointed glare. “And your job too, for that matter.”

“Jenny—” began Giles, helpless.

“Herbert!” Willow announced, running into the library. “They found him.”

“The pig?” said Buffy.

“Dead,” said Willow dismally. “And also eaten. Principal Flutie's freaking out.”

“Testosterone, huh?” said Buffy to Giles.

“Hyena it is,” Jenny agreed. She hesitated, then sighed, crossing the room to Giles. “You’re still a high school faculty member,” she said. “Even if you took this job so you’d have some time to research, you have to take care of these kids.”

There was genuine disappointment in her eyes, and that fact made Giles feel worse than any of her anger and frustration ever had. “You’re right,” he said quietly, because she was. Buffy _had_ come to him with concern for her friend. Even if he was first and foremost a Watcher, he was beginning to become aware that compassion towards his charge was still important. “I’ll—look up hyenas, then?”

“I’m sure I can dig up some articles,” said Jenny, and stood on tiptoe, giving him a soft kiss.

Buffy gagged.

“Can it, Summers, I’m _helping_ you,” said Jenny, a laugh in her voice as she pulled away from Giles. “Okay. I’m going to boot up that library computer and see what I can find about animal possessions. Rupert, you’ll look through your books?”

“You’re taking this claim quite in stride,” said Giles, feeling a strange mixture of suspicious and smitten.

“My husband’s an occult nerd,” teased Jenny. “I pick things up.”

* * *

 

Jenny found an astonishing amount of relevant articles in a very short amount of time. “Part of the job,” she quipped, even though it really wasn’t. Giles, meanwhile, was finding himself rather jealous of the star-struck way Buffy and Willow continued to regard her, especially since her motives were now in question. She was certainly witty, and intelligent, and kind, not to mention stunningly beautiful, but the fact remained that he couldn’t _trust_ someone who had clear knowledge of vampires and wouldn’t tell him anything about them.

 _Granted,_ said a rather infuriating voice in his head, _you_ are  _continuing to do the exact same thing with her._

 _Stuff it,_ Giles informed the voice, going back to paging through the book he’d been looking at.

“Anything useful?” Jenny asked earnestly, peering over his shoulder. Seeing the illustrations, she winced. “Yikes. This whole thing doesn’t look at _all_ pretty. And if it’s what’s happening to Xander…”

“…then direct action must be taken, and soon,” Giles finished, glancing over at her. “I’m sure if we figure out exactly how and why this happened, we’ll be able to piece together how to help him and the others.”

“Hopefully before they do something _really_ awful,” Jenny added. “Any kind of soul placed in a body that wasn’t meant to hold it—” She stopped, a strange expression on her face. “Anyway,” she said awkwardly. Bemused, Giles waited, but she didn’t elaborate.

“Why couldn’t Xander be possessed by a puppy, or some ducks?” Willow was saying plaintively.

“That's assuming 'possession' is the right word,” Buffy answered.

“You bet it is,” said Jenny, all but hurrying over to the girls. Giles, still frowning a bit, followed. “The Masai of the Serengeti have talked about animal possession for generations.”

“I should have remembered that,” Giles added ruefully. Jenny gave him a clear _yes you should have_ expression, but still tucked her arm into his.

“So how does it work?” Buffy asked.

“There’s this sect of animal worshipers, Primals,” Jenny began before Giles could start. “They’re pretty much of the mind that human consciousness is this whole unnatural dilution of the spirit, and that the animal state is holy. They came up with this way to draw the spirits of different animals into their own bodies through trans-possession.”

“Succinct,” said Giles, impressed.

“Yeah, Giles takes _way_ longer when _he’s_ briefing us,” said Buffy, then clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

“Um, on studying things!” Willow added hastily. “In study group! Where we all study together! It’s not like Giles ever talks about the occult with us, ever, at all!”

“Calm down,” said Jenny, amused. “I know more than anyone that Rupert’s almost always working on research for his occult book. It’s not exactly surprising to me that he might bring it up with you kids on occasion.”

“Oh,” said Buffy.

“Occult book,” said Willow.

“That makes sense,” said Buffy.

Giles did his best not to look too worthy of suspicion.

“ _Anyway,_ ” said Jenny, “the Primals are really only big on the predatory-type animals, so it makes a lot of sense that Xander might have ended up with a hyena spirit in him. My articles talked about that…”

“…and my books gave us a rather graphic depiction of what might happen if that spirit goes unchecked,” Giles finished, handing the book to Buffy and Willow.

Buffy took one look at the book, then set it down, face grim. “I have to find Xander,” she said flatly, then hurried out of the library without waiting for a response.

“Yeah, that’s fair,” said Jenny, squinting at the illustrations. Willow looked a little pale. “Rupert, I think we should start looking into ways to reverse this trans-possession. Something that’ll get the hyena back _into_ the hyena without putting it in anyone else.”

“I don’t know if my books contain that ritual,” said Giles apprehensively.

“I’m sure the web can find _something,_ ” Jenny began.

There was a knock on the door, and a small sophomore peered in. “Um, Mr. Giles, Ms. Calendar?” she said uncertainly. “Emergency faculty meeting. Vice principal says all staff have to—”

“Thanks, Emily,” said Jenny, giving Giles a worried look.

Giles quite understood Jenny’s unease. Emergency faculty meetings almost always meant a death. Very deliberately, he took her hand, squeezing it tightly. “I’m right here,” he said quietly. “Remember?”

Reluctantly, Jenny smiled, though the worry hadn’t quite left her eyes. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah. You are.”

* * *

 

Principal Flutie had been found, completely devoured, in his office.

“Oh,” said Jenny, much too loudly, right after the vice principal delivered this news. Then she got up, shrugged off Giles’s hand, and all but ran outside. The vice principal looked too distressed by the news to object to anyone leaving, so Giles followed, hurrying after her and making sure to shut the door behind him.

Jenny was leaning against a locker, her face in her hands. Her shoulders were shaking.

“ _Jenny,_ ” said Giles. His heart caught in his chest at how small she looked.

Jenny straightened, looking humiliated, and roughly scrubbed at her face with a sweater sleeve, but she was still shaking too much to stand upright. Without hesitation, Giles crossed the hall, taking her in his arms.

“He’s the reason we got married,” Jenny said, her voice shaky and thick with tears. “Or…” She trailed off, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “He’s the reason we _stayed_ married,” she said. “He’s the reason we’re married right now. It was all about appearances, remember?”

Giles was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I don’t think it’s…I think this marriage might be something else, now.”

Jenny raised her head. “I don’t like that,” she said. “Make it stop.”

“I—”

“No, okay, maybe not,” Jenny whispered, and buried her face in Giles’s coat, taking a steadying breath in. He felt the way she relaxed in his arms, felt her curl closer, and realized in that moment that he couldn’t at all imagine what his life would be like when Jenny left it. It wasn’t the loneliness that would hurt—it was the absence of _her._ Small and kind and fiercely loyal.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“For what?” Jenny mumbled into his coat.

For a lot of things. Most of them things he couldn’t tell her. “I feel as though I’m an entirely unsuitable husband for a woman of your caliber,” said Giles, which was true enough that it alleviated _some_ of the guilt.

Jenny snorted, raising her head. “Bet you wouldn’t have said that on that plane ride,” she said. “All that stuff you had to say about decency and respectability—”

“Sod decency, Jenny,” said Giles with a wet laugh. “Decency didn’t bring us here, did it? Our marriage is a horribly unromantic story, but I don’t know if I could handle this town alone. I’m grateful I don’t have to.”

Jenny suddenly looked rather nervous. “I don’t know if I’m up for long-term commitment,” she said.

“Is this that?”

“Well, we’re married,” said Jenny awkwardly. “And we never actually talked about what all that kissing meant, I just thought—”

“Jenny, no amount of kissing means that we _have_ to stay married,” said Giles, alarmed by her presumption.

“We just started talking about feelings and how this marriage wasn’t just appearances—”

“We are in an entirely unusual situation,” said Giles, choosing his words carefully. “You yourself mentioned that before our date was derailed.”

Jenny exhaled. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, okay. I just—it’s hard for me to wrap my head around this whole thing. I mean, god, I _like_ you, I really do, but marriage isn’t ever something I would have chosen for myself. Being in a relationship with you means I’m at least considering—”

“It absolutely doesn’t have to mean that,” said Giles firmly. “This marriage is only a marriage from a legal standpoint. Even if no one but us knows it, we’re really just two people who have realized—albeit in the strangest possible way—that we would like to know rather more about each other.”

Jenny smiled slightly. “So this is just us dating,” she said.

“Yes.”

“But, like, we’re also legally married.”

“I did say it was the strangest possible way to get to know a lady,” Giles quipped. His smile softened. “If it would help, even a little…would you like to set an end date? Some point in time where we—”

But Jenny shook her head. “I don’t think that’s what I want,” she said, and reached up, lightly touching his cheek. Giles’s heart fluttered. “I meant what I said about not wanting to be married, Rupert, but…so far, marriage to you has been kind of okay. Stamping an end date on any possible relationship seems kinda pessimistic.”

“So—”

“I think we’ll know when it’s time to split,” said Jenny simply.

Giles found that he agreed. “All right,” he said. “So for now we’re legally married. But that’s a side thing that we can work out if this doesn’t.”

Jenny nodded, then settled further into his arms with a shaky sigh. “It’s been a really tough day,” she said. “And it doesn’t help that people are being _eaten_ on campus, but…I’m glad I’ve got you here too. Sunnydale can’t possibly be a fun town to live in by yourself.”

“Principal Flutie was married, I think,” said Giles distantly.

Jenny raised her head. “Well, he wasn’t married to _me,_ ” she said matter-of-factly, as if by determination alone she could keep Giles from anything that might wish him harm. The look in her eyes made Giles quite believe that she could.

“I trust you, you know,” he said, and it was more for himself than for her. An affirmation that this was, in fact, someone he could trust, regardless of the secrets she might be keeping.

Jenny blinked, then smiled, and the guiltlessness of her smile confirmed it: whatever it was she was hiding from him, she didn’t think it something that might hurt him in the long run. He could understand that sort of secret. “I trust you too,” she said, a half-laugh in her voice, like she couldn’t possibly understand why he might want to tell her this.

Giles tried to smile in return.

* * *

 

They walked to the library together. Jenny, while still clearly shaken by Principal Flutie’s death, did seem comforted; Giles had no idea _what_ he was feeling. Almost all of the secrets kept from Jenny had been justified by the fact that she would eventually be leaving his life, but now…true as it was that he didn’t know everything about her, it was also true that she was clearly a woman to be trusted. Staying married to her while not telling her what she had signed up for felt _thoroughly_ dishonest.

Thankfully, the children were discussing the matter at hand when they entered, which meant that Giles was once again back on the Watcher clock. “Right now I'm a little more worried about what the rest of the pack are up to,” Buffy was saying, and Giles felt Jenny wince next to him.

“The rest of the pack were spotted outside Herbert the mascot's cage,” said Giles, doing his best to keep his tone steady. He wasn’t quite sure if he managed. “They were sent to the principal's office.”

“Good! That'll show 'em,” said Willow emphatically. When Giles and Jenny didn’t respond, she faltered. “Did it show 'em?”

Jenny let out a shaking breath, her hand tightening around Giles’s.

“They didn't hurt him, did they?” Buffy asked, but it sounded as though she already knew the answer.

“They ate him,” said Jenny quietly.

Willow sat down, slowly. “They ate Principal Flutie?” Buffy asked.

“Ate him up?” Willow added.

“According to the vice principal, wild dogs ate him, but, uh, that’s about as likely as…” Jenny trailed off, waving a hand.

“A science teacher with his head missing,” Giles finished darkly. Jenny flinched. Belatedly, Giles remembered that this amount of death _wasn’t_ something Jenny was at all used to. “Jenny,” he said quietly, “we can continue to look into this without you, if you need some time—”

“ _No,_ ” said Jenny. Her hand was now gripping Giles’s tight enough to cut off circulation.

“Xander didn’t eat anybody, though,” said Willow suddenly. “He was with Buffy.”

Jenny let go of Giles’s hand to step towards the book cage, which was when Giles noticed the slumped figure of Xander lying across the floor. “Oh!” he said. “Well, that’s a small—no, Jenny, don’t get too close,” he added sharply, pulling her hastily back. “We don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“Guys, how do we stop this?” Buffy asked, still visibly shaken. “How do you trans-possess someone?”

“We’re missing a _lot_ of pieces,” said Jenny, “and we’re running out of time.”

“There’s some talk of a predatory act, but the exact ritual is, um…” Giles trailed off, thinking. “The Malleus Maleficarum deals in—”

“That’s demonic possession, Rupert,” said Jenny shortly. “We don’t want the demon transferred from human to human, we want the hyena back in the hyena.”

There was a strange, surprised silence. “You know my books,” said Giles, unable to stop himself from smiling.

“Light reading,” said Jenny, blushing. “My _point_ is that until we know more—”

“Betcha that zookeeper could tell us,” said Buffy suddenly. “Maybe he didn't quarantine those hyenas because they were sick.”

“We should talk to him,” Giles suggested.

“Okay,” said Buffy, and took two steps towards the exit before stopping. “Oh, wait, somebody's gotta watch Xander—”

“I will,” said Willow.

“No way,” said Jenny sharply. “If he wakes up—”

“I’ll be fine!” Willow objected. “I know Xander, it’s—”

“That’s not Xander, Willow,” said Jenny. “That’s something else. If you’re staying, I’m staying with you.”

Giles’s mind immediately jumped from dead pigs to Flutie’s remains to coming back and finding Jenny in pieces across the library floor. “Jenny, I don’t think—” he began.

“You’re _not_ leaving a teenager alone with a possessed kid!” Jenny snapped. “That is a _recipe_ for more people dead, and I _won’t_ be having any more deaths today if there’s anything I can do to stop them!”

Buffy and Willow both looked a little impressed at this, though the latter also looked somewhat annoyed at being labeled a _teenager_. Jenny had a point, Giles knew, but the thought of leaving her _anywhere_ that wasn’t with him, especially when there were possessed hyenas on the loose…

The words tumbled out of Giles before he had quite realized what he was saying. “You talk so much about the deaths you want to prevent, Jenny,” he said. “What do you think it would do to me if I knew I could have prevented yours?”

The furious look on Jenny’s face froze. She looked honestly speechless.

Giles found himself stunned by his own words as well. Trusting Jenny was one thing, but this unexpected depth of emotion she inspired—this was altogether another. “I care—deeply—about you,” he said clumsily; it felt woefully inadequate, but it would have to do. “I think you should know that.” Turning to face his wife, he took her hands. “You’re right to stay with Willow,” he said. “And it’s selfish of me to want you at my side. Please, dear, just be careful.” Nodding to a stunned Buffy, he let go of Jenny and headed out of the library, not entirely ready to look back. If anything happened to Jenny while he was gone, he didn’t know _what_ he would do.

* * *

 

Of bloody _course_ the pack would come back for Xander. The abject terror that Giles felt as he raced through the hallways was unlike anything he had experienced before. Jenny had stayed behind to help. If anything had happened to her…

Giles caught sight of Buffy hitting one of the pack members with a fire extinguisher, and then Jenny tumbled through the half-open classroom door and into his arms. On impulse, he kissed her very hard, then held her tightly to him as Willow stumbled through as well. “I’m so sorry, I hadn’t thought they’d come back for Xander—” he stammered, all but dizzy with relief.

“Adds some spice to life, doesn’t it?” said Jenny, just as they caught sight of three other pack members down the hall.

“Run!” Buffy shouted. Willow obliged. Giles, absolutely unwilling to let go of Jenny, scooped her up in his arms before she could object. _“Rupert!”_ she shrieked, but he was already following Buffy and Willow into the computer lab, slamming the door shut behind them. Buffy pushed past him to lock it; he set Jenny down.

“God, are you _five?”_ Jenny demanded, face flushed. “I can run by myself!”

“I didn’t—want—I thought you might be dead,” Giles managed, touching her cheek very gently.

Jenny blinked, startled, then gave him a small, relieved smile, leaning into his hand. “Well,” she said. “I’m not. So no worries.”

“If you two are _done_ being married,” said Buffy, but without as much of her usual exasperation behind it, “we’ve gotta get the pack back to the zoo.”

Giles wavered. “Individually, they’re almost as strong as you,” he began. “As a group, they’re—”

“Tough,” Buffy finished, “but getting stupider. You guys head to the zoo and I’ll figure out a way to get _them_ there.”

Giles nodded, taking Jenny’s hand. Willow followed.

* * *

 

“There’s the Hyena House,” said Willow, pointing down the path. “Where’s the zookeeper?”

“He must be preparing for the ritual,” said Giles. “I’ll go in to help—” He paused, glancing at Jenny. “Jenny, would you come with me? Your expertise in this area has served us well thus far.”

“Just _laying_ on the compliments tonight, aren’t you?” said Jenny, looking genuinely flattered. “Willow, warn us as _soon_ as you see them coming.” She fell into step with Giles as they hurried down the path, then tugged on his sleeve, stopping them once they were a good distance away from Willow.

“What is it?”

“What you said,” said Jenny. She looked a little nervous. “About…caring about me, and, and wanting me next to you. And then kissing me like that when you got back, I didn’t know…I mean, I knew you and I finally reached a kind of okay place, but Rupert, I’ve never seen you like that before.”

“This is uncharted territory for both of us, to be honest,” said Giles, which was the closest to the truth that he could give her.

Jenny gave him a small, fluttery smile, one of those special ones that he’d begun to realize only came out around him. “Hey, c’mere,” she said softly, and gripped his scarf, pulling him gently down into a quiet kiss.

“Um, Giles?” called Willow from up the path, sounding a little exasperated.

Jenny pulled back, wincing. “Duty calls,” she said, looking a little embarrassed.

“And here I was _sure_ it was too dark for her to see us,” muttered Giles, grabbing Jenny’s hand and pulling her along. As they ducked under the tape, he called, “Doctor? Um—zookeeper?”The zookeeper rounded the corner, face painted. “Ah,” said Giles, relieved. “The traditional Masai ceremonial garb. Very good.”

‘We all set for the trans-possession?” Jenny asked.

“Almost,” said the zookeeper.

Giles then noticed the markings on the floor. “Oh, right, yes!” he said. “The sacred circle! Yes, you’d need that to…” He trailed off, frowning. “But this would be here when…”

“Rupert,” said Jenny slowly, “it’s not possible to pull off a trans-possession without some planning beforehand.”

“I’m quite aware of that, Jenny,” said Giles, looking again at the zookeeper. The man was watching them both with a sharp, wary expression.

“People _died,_ ” said Jenny. Her eyes were flashing as she tugged her hand free of Giles’s, stepping forward and towards the zookeeper. “You are so much worse than some fucking vampire. People died because of your stupid attempt at a power trip. Kids are going to have to deal with the knowledge that they _ate a person._ How do you justify inflicting that on _children?_ ”

Without warning, the zookeeper lashed out, hitting Jenny hard with his staff. She fell to the ground, unconscious.

The last thing Giles thought before the staff swung in his direction was _I really need to get better at figuring these things out._

* * *

 

He woke up in a cramped storage closet, Jenny leaning against him. Wincing, he pulled himself to his feet, keeping a steadying hand on the small of Jenny’s back.

“Does _every_ night with you end with us knocked out?” Jenny mumbled as he opened the door.

“I’d say it’s an unfortunately safe bet,” said Giles ruefully. “My apologies.” Blinking up and around at the Hyena House, he added to Buffy, Willow, and Xander, “Did we miss anything?”

“More like _everything_ ,” Buffy began, then winced sympathetically. “You guys get knocked out?”

“The amount of head trauma that this job entails is ridiculous,” Giles muttered, hugging Jenny to his side. “You’re all right, dear?”

“Ugh,” said Jenny.

“My sentiments exactly,” said Giles.

“Listen, you guys should, uh, probably head home,” said Buffy, who was looking a little worriedly at the disoriented Jenny. “Or maybe to a hospital?”

“No, I’m cool!” said Jenny, tried to stand up without help, lost her balance, and fell into Giles’s side. Giles fell into the wall.

“Sure,” said Buffy, mouth twitching. “Okay. You two can meet us at the car, then?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned to Willow and Xander, beginning to gently fuss over the latter.

“Hey, I actually have a quick errand to run,” said Jenny, raising a hand to rub the back of her head. She still looked a little shaky on her feet, but she wasn’t quite as unsteady. “Is it okay if I meet you back at home?”

“Jenny—” Giles began, then stopped.

“Yeah?” Jenny met his eyes, holding his stare with a determined resolve.

Giles considered. Then he said, “I’ll see you at home, dear. Do be careful,” and dropped a kiss to her forehead.

He trusted her. It felt like the right choice.


	9. the other factors

Giles supposed that the mystery of Jenny might trouble him more if he hadn’t gotten to know her so well over the last few months. She had proven so many times over that her primary goal was to protect the people she cared for. It was perhaps foolish of him to trust her so implicitly, but the feeling in his chest when he looked at her felt too strong to be incorrect. It also felt too strong to be simply attraction, but…that was a problem to be addressed later, he hoped. There were other problems they were facing at the moment.

“Principal Snyder’s trying to leverage that _one_ time he saw us holding hands in a faculty meeting to get me to pass all the athletes taking his class,” Jenny was telling Giles, carding her fingers absently through his hair. Her wedding ring caught briefly, but the light tug just made Giles smile. He liked being reminded that it was his wife sitting atop his desk while he took his tea. “And I was like, I mean, we’ve done _so_ much worse on the premises. Didn’t you feel me up in a broom closet on Monday?”

“You make it sound so crass,” said Giles, his smile widening. Leaning back in his office chair, he tilted his head back to rest it in Jenny’s lap.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Jenny, and leaned down to kiss him. “Didn’t you _rest your hand upon my heaving bosom_ on Monday?”

“That’s worse,” said Giles seriously, delighting in Jenny’s laugh. “That’s—that’s terrible romance novel language, Jenny.”

“A poet I am not,” said Jenny unapologetically. She grinned, thoughtful. “Can you come up with something better?”

Giles considered this, resting his cheek on her leg as he did so. “I felt you up in a broom closet on Monday,” he conceded. “Though if I recall, you did a fair amount of _feeling up_ in return.”

“And who could blame me?” Jenny kissed him again, then sighed. “I should probably go set up the lab.”

“Should you?”

“You’re the worst,” said Jenny, not very seriously. “Really, I should—”

Outside Giles’s office, the sound of loud, cheerful voices could be heard as the library doors burst open. “GILES!” Buffy called, heedless of any rules regarding the library being a quiet place. “We need to talk!”

“Duty calls, huh?” Jenny brushed her fingers gently against Giles’s cheek. He shivered. “At least _they_ aren’t gonna flip if they see me coming out of your office.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” said Giles ruefully, sitting up. “I rather think we scarred Buffy for life with our little morgue drawer display.” He stood, turning to offer Jenny a hand. She took it, and he tugged her gently off the desk, taking a deliberate extra moment to steady her. “Be out in a second, Buffy!” he called, then kissed Jenny’s nose. She laughed.

“Giles, can you _please_ stop making out with your wife and just _come out here?”_ Buffy called.

Giles rolled his eyes a little, opening the office door and leaning against the doorframe. Jenny stepped up next to him. “What brings you three to the library this early?” he asked, a little concerned by the answer. “Generally our—ah—study group doesn’t meet before lunch.”

“Yeah, well, that was before Angel and I had to fend off three _really_ nasty—” Buffy stopped, glancing furtively at Jenny. “Um, they—”

“Vampires?” said Jenny.

Buffy, Willow, Xander, and Giles all stared incredulously at her.

“Look, I, uh, know you’re shocked,” continued Jenny, completely misinterpreting their stares, “but you all seem absolutely hell-bent on placing yourselves in progressively weirder and more dangerous situation. After that stuff with the hyenas last week, I think it’s important that you all know about the whole vampire situation in Sunnydale.”

“I’m sorry?” said Giles.

“Vampires are real,” said Jenny patiently.

Buffy gaped at Jenny. After a very pointed look from Giles, she seemed to remember how to speak again. “Yep!” she managed. “Vampires! Wow, that is some _shocking_ information right there, Ms. Calendar, and it brings up a _lot of questions!”_

“Like, say, how does Ms. Calendar know about vampires without Giles knowing Ms. Calendar knew about vampires?” Willow asked.

“That is a _very good question,_ Willow,” said Buffy, giving Giles a death glare. “Why would Giles not know that his wife knew about vampires? Especially considering—”

“—that I myself am working on a paranormal book,” Giles finished very loudly, glaring right back at Buffy. “Jenny, why on earth didn’t you _tell_ me?”

Jenny exhaled, looking up at Giles. “I didn’t want to put you in danger,” she said softly. “You find it easily enough even _without_ knowing about vampires.”

This made sense, and didn’t surprise Giles in the slightest. Most of this information wasn’t new to him, after all. What _was_ new was the fact that Jenny had just made her knowledge of the supernatural very clear to the children, and the children now knew that Jenny knew about vampires, which raised a lot of obvious questions as to why Giles hadn’t yet told her he was a Watcher. “I understand,” he said, smiling weakly. He did his best not to look at Buffy, Willow, and Xander, who all looked varying degrees of disapproving. “That, um, must have caused you quite a lot of worry.”

Jenny waved a dismissive hand. “We’ve been through that part before,” she said. “You know I worry about you. That’s not in question. What I want to know is why there were vampires chasing Buffy and—” She stopped, a strange expression on her face, and then said, “Angel.”

Buffy didn’t miss this. _“Do_ you know Angel?” she asked curiously.

“You said he helped you fend off some vampires last night?” Jenny asked, so confident and casual that only Giles noticed she hadn’t answered Buffy’s question.

“Yeah,” said Buffy. A soft, slow smile spread across her face. “He had to spend the night with me.”

Jenny blanched. Willow beamed. Xander said, loud and furious, “He  _spent the night?_ In your room? In your bed?”

“Not _in_ my bed,” Buffy corrected, still smiling. “ _By_ my bed.”

“That is _so_ romantic!” Willow sighed. “Did you, uh…I mean, did he, uh…”

“Perfect gentleman,” said Buffy dreamily.

“Did you invite him in?” said Jenny suddenly.

Buffy looked surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”

“Did you say the words _come in?_ ” Jenny had a strange look in her eyes.

“I don’t know,” said Buffy slowly, looking a little amused. “It was kind of a life-or-death situation. You know how it is with vampires.”

“Unfortunately,” said Jenny grimly. “Buffy, Angel isn’t the kind of guy you want in your bedroom.”

“ _Thank_ you,” said Xander loudly, looking extremely pleased. “See? Even Ms. Calendar thinks Angel’s bad news.”

“You said yourself he’s not dangerous, didn’t you?” Buffy said plaintively, directing large puppy eyes at Jenny. “And nothing _happened._ He’s a good guy.”

Jenny bit her lip, considering. Then she said, “If _anything_ happens, you let me know, Buffy. Do you understand that? Any single, solitary thing that seems out of the ordinary—”

“And I come to you, I _got_ it.” Buffy beamed angelically.

Giles was beginning to frown. It was one thing for Jenny to have her secrets, but quite another for her secrets to intersect with his authority as a Watcher. Anything out of the ordinary that Buffy experienced had to be first and foremost reported to _Giles,_ not Jenny. “May I speak with you in private?” he asked quietly, tugging at Jenny’s sleeve.

Jenny looked a little surprised. “Sure,” she said, and let him lead her back into the office. As he shut the door, she sat down on the top of his desk, surveying him with a hopeful interest. “Stealing a kiss?” she said lightly.

“Not quite,” said Giles. “Jenny, _what_ is going on between you and Angel? It’s clear you know something about him that you aren’t divulging.”

Jenny considered this. Then she said, “Rupert, you took that new information about vampires a lot better than I expected you to. What’s up with that?”

Giles exhaled, impatient. “I research the supernatural quite extensively,” he said. “The concept of vampires being real is a possibility that has crossed my mind more than once. What don’t Buffy and I know about Angel?”

“Something that isn’t any of your business,” said Jenny. “Something that _shouldn’t_ be any of your business, not if I have anything to say about it. He shouldn’t be staying in a teenage girl’s bedroom.”

“He seems a decent enough fellow,” said Giles quietly. “Certainly not the type to take any liberties.”

“You don’t know him,” said Jenny, looking directly up at Giles.

“And that’d be _helped_ if you _told me_ why I should be worried!” Giles snapped, frustrated.

Jenny flushed, looking genuinely hurt. As she crossed her arms against her chest, Giles felt a sudden, painful twinge of guilt. “If you trust me like you say you do, you’ll know I wouldn’t ever keep something from you without good reason,” she said quietly, “Believe me, Rupert, this is something I _want_ to tell you, but there are so many other factors in play. The moment I can tell you, I swear I will. Right now isn’t that moment.” She drew in a shaking breath. “I wish it was.”

Giles felt terrible. Here he was guarding his secrets with every intention of keeping them from Jenny for as long as possible, and here _she_ was telling him she wanted, badly, to share her own with him. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “It’s difficult to know that there are parts of you I don’t understand.”

“Well, hey, that’s marriage,” said Jenny with a wobbly laugh. “Not exactly a picnic, but…worth the work.” She reached out, squeezing Giles’s hands.

“I do trust you,” said Giles softly. “More than most.”

“I’d hope so,” said Jenny. There was that beautiful smile, tentative and sincere, the one that only he ever brought out.

Giles was tempted, badly, to kiss her again, but the children were outside and waiting. Reluctantly, he dropped her hands. “I’d best get back to the children,” he murmured. “And I—”

Jenny gripped his shirt, pressing her mouth firmly to his. Giles laughed a bit breathlessly, kissing her back.

* * *

 

Things had changed between them. Giles, half-awake in bed that night, was quite comfortable admitting that. Jenny touched him because she wanted to touch him, and kissed him because she liked him, and did the washing up because he did the cooking and she felt like it was only fair. He liked talking to her at night, both of them drowsy and safe in bed, about art and literature and that frankly ridiculous thing that some student in her class had done. Saying that he was smitten with her didn’t quite cover his growing feelings for her—not when everything he found out about her seemed to solidify how very much he cared for her.

It was these feelings that posed a problem. Giles was deeply afraid of losing her if ever she found out how much he had been keeping from her. It was true that she understood secrets, especially with some of her own, but he didn’t at all know how she would feel about the entire extra facet of his personality. To her, he was Rupert, a gentle librarian, but to Buffy and Willow and Xander, he was Giles, a Watcher and a researcher. He couldn’t at all imagine her loving both.

 _Caring for_ both.

Giles let out a frightened breath. When had he started wanting Jenny to love him?

Jenny, as always, had fallen asleep first, her head pillowed on his shoulder. It was giving Giles a frustrating amount of time to think—about her, about him, about the impossibilities that he wanted for the both of them. He imagined meeting Jenny the way they were supposed to have met, not roundabout, not married to her in Vegas before they had even learned to like each other. He thought about how they might have met in a staff meeting before school started, and he might have found out she knew more than he had expected, and she might have gotten to know him as a Watcher and a friend all in one. Him asking her out to dinner, their stumbling through a sweet, awkward courtship, them falling in love without secrets between them.

“Jenny,” he said softly.

Jenny stirred against his chest. “Mm?”

“Do you think—would we have been better, had we met the right way round?” Giles asked, his own voice weary. He wished he could fall asleep as easily as her.

Jenny hummed, cuddling into him. “I think I’m happy I’m here,” she whispered.

Something about that made Giles feel better and worse at the same time. He kissed the top of her head, closing his eyes.

* * *

 

The next day brought alarming news.

“Angel’s a vampire?” said Willow disbelievingly.

“I can't believe this is happening,” said Buffy, small and tired. “One minute we were kissing, and the next minute…” She looked plaintively to Giles. “Can a vampire ever be a good person? Couldn't it happen?”

Giles kept on thinking of Jenny’s words. _He shouldn’t be staying in a teenage girl’s bedroom._ And yet if Angel was _truly_ a threat…how could Jenny possibly put Buffy’s life at risk? “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “By all accounts, a vampire isn't a person at all.”

“But Ms. Calendar let him stay with Buffy!” Willow objected, distressed. “Why would she do that if Angel’s a bad guy?”

_If you trust me like you say you do, you’ll know I wouldn’t ever keep something from you without good reason._

“Giles?” Willow turned to him.

There had to be some other explanation. But Jenny knowing about Angel, Jenny knowing about the supernatural, Jenny showing up in Giles’s life and being so distracting, so lovely, so absolutely wonderful—god, he should have known. There was always a catch. “I need to speak to my wife,” said Giles acidly, and hurried past the children, up the stairs, through the hallway, not bothering to look back.

Jenny was setting up her classroom, humming the song that had been on the radio when they’d driven to school that morning. She turned as he stepped into the room; her smile faded at his expression. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Angel is a vampire,” said Giles.

Jenny paled. “Did he hurt Buffy?”

“I think the time for games is _very_ much over, Jenny,” said Giles coldly. “Tell me what you know.”

“There aren’t any—any _games,_ Rupert, and I can’t believe you would think— _tell me if he hurt Buffy,_ ” Jenny demanded. “God, please, I—I would have told you if I’d known—” She let out a choked sob, pressing her fingers to her mouth. “She’s so _small,_ ” she whispered. “She’s sixteen. I couldn’t tell you, I should have told you—”

“Buffy is fine,” said Giles. Then, “You knew he was a vampire.”

“It’s family stuff,” whispered Jenny. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m an intelligent man.”

Jenny swallowed. She stepped around Giles, shutting the door. “I don’t want to tell you this now,” she said. “I don’t. I want to tell you because _I_ want to tell you, not out of guilt. You _know_ me. You know I wouldn’t do anything if I thought it would hurt you or those kids. He’s a vampire, but it’s—complicated. He isn’t like most of them.”

“If there’s any chance he’ll hurt Buffy, it would help if we had some extra information,” said Giles sharply.

“He—” Jenny stared at him, wide-eyed. “You don’t trust me,” she said quietly.

“Jenny.”

“How is my word not enough on this one?”

 _“He’s a vampire, Jenny!”_ Giles shouted. “You can’t just—just speak in vague terms and tell me to follow you blindly! Buffy’s _life_ may very well be at stake, and you’re concerned as to whether or not I trust you enough? You need to get your bloody priorities in order before you start chiding me for not trusting the stranger I _drunkenly married!”_

The second after he had said it, he realized his mistake like a punch to the gut. He was treating this situation like he didn’t _know_ Jenny, like she hadn’t bandaged his hands and kissed him in a morgue drawer and looped a cross around his neck just to keep him safe. She had given him every reason to trust her, had gone so far as to beg him to understand that she didn’t _want_ to keep secrets from him—she had even been honest enough to admit that she had secrets in the first place. And here he was yelling at her as though he didn’t have a thousand and one secrets of his own.

But Jenny was looking at him, her expression now utterly, purposefully unreadable. “You know what?” she said. “You’re right. I’m some stranger you barely know. You have every fucking reason to think I might want to hurt the kids under my care.” She nodded, a jerky motion. “I get the message loud and clear, Rupert.”

“Jenny,” said Giles weakly. He felt sick to his stomach.

“I think we’re done here,” said Jenny, and turned on her heel, walking out of the classroom without looking back.

Giles sat down, head spinning, on the edge of Jenny’s desk.

“Giles?”

Giles looked up. Willow was standing in the doorway, looking shaken and sad. “How much of that did you hear?” he asked tiredly.

“Um, you guys weren’t exactly quiet,” said Willow uncertainly. “It’s pretty lucky that everybody else is in class. This is my TA period for Ms. Calendar, though, so—”

“Willow,” said Giles.

“I heard _drunkenly married,_ ” mumbled Willow. “I covered my ears after that, though, I promise.”

Giles removed his glasses, shakily cleaning them with his handkerchief. He couldn’t quite look at Willow as she sat down next to him. But he couldn’t leave things so ambiguous, especially not if she might tell Buffy or Xander about what she had heard. _Someone,_ at least, deserved the truth. “We met in Las Vegas two weeks before term started,” he said quietly. “We were both laid over there. She swept me off my feet in a bar, we got ridiculously drunk, and we woke up the next day legally bound.”

Willow was silent for a very long time. It took Giles a good two minutes to look up at her, and when he did, she gave him a weak smile. “Just trying to process,” she said.

“I quite understand,” said Giles wryly.

“It’s just…” Willow sighed. “You guys _click,_ ” she said. “It’s hard for me to imagine the both of you being complete strangers to each other.”

Giles swallowed. “There are many mistakes I have made in my life,” he said. “I don’t think marrying Jenny was one of them.” This felt too much of an admission. He hastened to change the subject. “But she knew Angel was a vampire, and that—I—I was afraid she was using me. To get to Buffy. Hurt her, somehow.”

“You know she wouldn’t do that!” said Willow, all but affronted.

“I had it in my head that I didn’t know her well enough to make that judgment,” said Giles heavily.

Willow huffed. “ _That’s_ crazy talk,” she said.

Giles exhaled. “I’m well aware,” he said, rather unable to look at Willow. The thought that he had caused Jenny needless pain was so much worse than Jenny being some sort of manipulative spy. “I should talk to her,” he said finally.

“Yeah, you should,” said Willow, giving him a momentary smile. “Just give her some space. I think she’s gonna need it.”

* * *

 

Giving Jenny space wasn’t as hard as Giles had imagined it to be. Jenny missed absolutely all of her classes, and when Giles headed to the parking lot at the end of the day, she had already left in her car. Seeing as she’d driven him to the high school, he ended up having to walk home, which gave him an unpleasant amount of time alone with his own thoughts. By the time he finally made it up the porch steps, it was dangerously close to sunset.

Jenny opened the door for him. “I’m sorry,” she said stiffly. “As mad as I am at you, I shouldn’t have left you at school.”

“Don’t you dare apologize to me,” said Giles quietly, shutting the door behind him. He made sure to give Jenny a wide berth; physical space was just as important as emotional space. “I was utterly horrible to you today, Jenny. I don’t know how I can begin to make it up to you.”

“I don’t know either,” said Jenny, staring him down.

Giles shoved his hands into his pockets, mostly to stop his physical compulsion to reach out to Jenny. Though her expression was one of resolute anger, he knew he had hurt her in a way that went beyond fury. “I was afraid,” he said finally. “Of you being too good to be true.”

“Skip the Hallmark-card bullshit, Rupert,” said Jenny flatly. “Tell me something real and I’ll _consider—_ ”

“Angry, then, how’s that?” said Giles, humiliation sharpening his words. “I was _angry,_ Jenny, that you didn’t tell me any of this. I hated that you gave me a reason to doubt you—”

“That’s your own damn fault for not listening, then!” Jenny’s eyes flashed. “I _told_ you I wanted to tell you everything, I just needed time!”

“How much time, hmm?” Giles took a step closer, unthinking, then stopped himself. _Give her some space._ “What happened if we ran out of time and Buffy ended up dead in her bed? If she knew he was a vampire, she’d have never let him in and you know it—”

“This isn’t about Buffy and it never was!” Jenny shouted. “You’re angry that your wife is a complete stranger to you and you don’t know every single fucking thought in her head! Well, guess what, Rupert, that’s what you sign up for when you’re a drunken moron who marries the first pretty girl that gives you the time of day!”

Giles reeled, drawing in a sharp, shaking breath. “I suppose I deserved that,” he said finally.

Jenny froze, mouth half-open. It was clear she’d been expecting him to throw another insult at her, and the absence of it had taken her off guard. No, not off guard—oh, no, oh, Jenny—

Without even thinking about it, Giles took two running steps across the living room and tugged a sobbing Jenny into his arms. Not once had she cried like this in all the time he’d seen her, and the thought that he had caused this was unbearable. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her hair, close to tears himself. “Jenny, please, I never—never meant to hurt you like this.”

Jenny sobbed something incoherent into his shoulder that sounded very much like an insult, but she was still holding onto him very tightly.

Giles drew in a soft breath, steadied by her presence. “You’re right,” he said quietly, stroking her hair. “This was never about Buffy. I was—afraid, and don’t tell me that that’s Hallmark-card rubbish—”

“I think what I said was _Hallmark-card bullshit,_ ” said Jenny. She was still crying, but her words were now at least relatively understandable. “Making our argument a little more G-rated?”

“ _Bloodbath_ would be more apropos for what went down in that classroom,” said Giles ruefully. “Though I think we both know that we have the propensity for rather explosive fights.”

Jenny made a noise between a sob and a laugh. “You could say that, yeah,” she mumbled.

“I was afraid,” said Giles again. “That your arrival in my life was somehow not a coincidence, that…that your designs on me were meant to hurt Buffy and myself.”

“Dumbest conspiracy theory ever,” said Jenny flatly, turning her head to rest her cheek on Giles’s chest.

“It’d explain rather well why—” Giles stopped, rather afraid that she could feel his heart pounding. “The more I get to know you, the more I find myself—smitten,” he said. The words didn’t come easily. “And you’re,” he laughed a little tiredly, “quite right that these admissions shouldn’t come tinged with guilt, Jenny. I’d much rather have told you this under happier circumstances. But the fact remains that my feelings for you are rapidly becoming large enough to eclipse any nefarious intent you could have had, and that’s frightening. I am, I am a man of logic, of reason, one who shouldn’t be swayed by—”

Jenny reached up, pressing her finger to his lips. Giles shut his mouth. Lowering her hand, she looked at him steadily, then said, “I believe you, and I get it. But none of that erases what you said to me.”

“I don’t want to erase it,” said Giles quietly. “I want to learn from it. I want you to be angry at me, rightfully so, and I want to prove that I can make things up to you.”

Something in Jenny’s expression softened. “Well, that’s a damn good start,” she murmured, and placed her hands on his shoulders, steadying Giles before she kissed him.

Giles kissed her back for a moment, then pulled away. “You’re not a stranger, you know,” he said earnestly.

“No?” There was clear vulnerability in Jenny’s eyes.

“No,” said Giles softly. “It was cruel of me to say as such, not to mention _entirely_ dishonest. I was afraid, and panicking, but that doesn’t absolve me.”

Jenny swallowed, hard. “I can understand that,” she said. “I’d probably react pretty badly too if I found out you knew stuff about vampires and had been keeping it from me.”

The guilt was like a physical pain in Giles’s stomach, but he couldn’t _possibly_ tell her now. Things were too fragile; it would have to wait just a bit longer. Unable to respond in a way that wasn’t a lie, he kissed her instead, purposefully losing himself in the blissful wonder that was kissing Jenny Calendar—

The phone rang.

“Damn,” Giles muttered, pulling away from Jenny.

“So we’ll save the makeup sex for later, huh?” said Jenny, and gave him a small, wobbly smile.

“Don’t tease,” said Giles, smiling back as he picked up the phone. “Yes?”

 _“Giles, we have a problem,”_ came Xander’s voice. _“It’s Angel._ ”

* * *

 

All of Jenny’s slowly-returning happiness had dissipated as soon as Giles had told her what had happened to Joyce. She hadn’t said a word during the drive to the hospital, and seemed either unwilling or unable to let go of Giles’s hand. Both, perhaps.

“Do you remember anything, Mom?” Giles heard Buffy saying from a nearby hospital room. Jenny swayed on her feet; he slipped an arm around her waist, steadying her, and she hid her face in his jacket.

“It’s not your fault,” he whispered.

“You don’t know that,” said Jenny flatly.

“No matter what idiocy I said today, you have more than earned my trust,” said Giles quietly. “A thousand times over, Jenny, you have been here for me.”

But Jenny shook her head, pulling back to look at him. “I knew,” she said. “I knew what he was capable of and I just let him—”

“You didn’t let him do a damn thing,” said Giles firmly. “He’s a monster.”

“He’s _not,_ ” Jenny burst out. “That’s—that’s the _problem,_ Rupert.”

“What?”

Jenny exhaled. “I’m Romani.”

This was quite literally the last thing Giles had been expecting her to say. “What does that have to do with—” Jenny gave him a look, and he coughed. “Right. Sorry. Do go on.”

“My family, generations ago, lost a daughter to Angelus,” said Jenny, never looking away from Giles. “A favorite daughter. He killed her, and so they cursed him, and I’m here to make sure that he’s still suffering from that curse.”

“All right,” said Giles slowly. This made quite a lot of sense. “But—does this curse mean that he isn’t a danger to others?”

“The curse means that he has a soul,” said Jenny. “His soul. His moral compass, which should tell him right from wrong. The idea was to, to make him feel the guilt of all the terrible things he’d done—keep him suffering for eternity.” She exhaled, unsmiling. “I don’t like that idea,” she said. “It’s endless, pointless vengeance. I wanted to do as little of my job as possible, because he seemed guilty enough as it was.”

“If he had a soul,” said Giles, “then why on earth did he go after Joyce?”

Jenny’s hands tightened around his forearms and her head fell forward. “I don’t _know!”_ she sobbed out. “I was the only one who knew what he was and I should have told you, you’re my _husband,_ we could have stopped this somehow—”

“Jenny,” Giles whispered, gathering her into his arms. “This is in _no_ way your fault. You had no idea this could have happened…” He trailed off, a lump in his throat. “And there I was blaming you for all of it. I’m so—”

“I’m gonna punch you out if you say _sorry,_ Rupert,” said Jenny into his chest.

Startled, Giles laughed. Jenny raised her head, giving him a small, uncertain smile. “Then I’ll withhold my apologies for the time being, Jenny,” he said.

A strange expression crossed Jenny’s face.

“What is it?”

“It’s just—” Jenny bit her lip. “Janna,” she said.

“I’m sorry?”

“My given name is Janna,” said Jenny. “But it—I—Jenny Calendar’s the lady who married you, you know? I like being her.” She smiled exhaustedly. “You’re the simplest fucking thing in my life, Rupert,” she said. “The rest of it’s a mess, but…” She trailed off.

Giles could think of nothing less simple than being a Watcher’s wife. But the concept of telling Jenny the truth, of possibly hurting her _more_ after she had just been so vulnerable with him _,_ was worse by far than keeping this secret just a little while longer. “I am happy to be whatever you need,” he said instead, and kissed the top of her head.

Jenny snuggled into his arms. “We should tell Buffy,” she murmured.

“I quite agree,” said Giles, and let go of her, just enough for her to take his arm instead. Together, they entered the room, finding Buffy, Willow, and Xander all gathered around Joyce Summers’s bed.

“Ms. Calendar!” Willow perked up. “You’re looking—”

“—kinda awful, actually,” said Xander matter-of-factly. “Finally realize you’re married to the dorkiest man on the planet?”

“I also grade your assignments, Xander,” said Jenny, fixing him with a look that immediately shut him up.

“Are you another doctor?” Joyce asked Giles blearily.

“Oh, um, no, my, my wife and I are faculty at Sunnydale High School,” Giles explained. “We came to, ah, wish you a speedy recovery.”

“Boy, the teachers really do care in this town,” said Joyce, grinning a little.

Buffy’s face was tight. “Get some rest now,” she said, pressing a kiss to her mother’s cheek and leading Willow and Xander out of the room. Giles and Jenny followed. “She’s going to be okay,” she informed Giles. “They gave her some iron—”

“Buffy, Jenny has some important information about Angel,” said Giles, squeezing Jenny’s hand.

Buffy looked a little surprised. “So you do know him,” she said.

“I do know him,” Jenny confirmed. “And…I think you all deserve to know why.”

* * *

 

Jenny’s explanation led to Buffy deciding that there was a factor she was missing regarding Angel’s attack on her mother, which led to Giles asking a few more questions about the friend who Joyce had let into the house. This in turn revealed that it was Darla who had attacked Buffy’s mother, and so Buffy went after Darla, and Angel ended up helping Buffy finally take Darla down.

Giles found out about Darla’s death much, much later. He had instructed Buffy to take the night off, as Darla clearly wanted Buffy to go after Angel. He would later discover that Buffy had completely disregarded his words, as always, but currently, he was carefully shepherding Jenny into their house, then shutting the door behind him, hanging his coat on the coat tree by the door. “I’m sorry about the direction tonight took,” he said.

Jenny didn’t answer. Without a word, she grasped at his sleeve, fingers brushing his wrist.

“Jenny?”

“You didn’t have to be as kind as you were,” she said, and gave him a small, wobbly smile.

“You’re giving me _much_ too much credit,” said Giles wryly. “If you’ll recall, I was completely horrible to you when first I found out—”

Jenny shook her head. “You didn’t have all the facts,” she said. “And now here you are with all of them, and you’re taking them in stride. I…” She trailed off. “You’re almost too good to be true,” she said. “I feel like there’s got to be some catch here, but there isn’t. There’s just you.”

Her fingers were drawing quiet, deliberate circles against the skin of his wrist, and the way she was looking at him brought back a sudden flash of memory—

* * *

 

_“—have you heard that thing about annulments?” his new wife was saying, eyes half-lidded._

_“Can’t recall,” said Giles, and took a sip of the horribly fruity drink from the hotel room mini-bar. It was the last alcoholic beverage left, or he most likely wouldn’t be drinking it at all._

_“That thing where if you don’t consummate the marriage, it can be annulled like—” she snapped her fingers, “—that?”_

_“Don’t think that’s how it works,” Giles corrected, attempting to sound as dignified as possible even through his inebriation. “It’s more…more like, if a marriage is carried out while one ‘r both of the participants are…are unsound of body or mind—”_

_Jenny straddled his lap and kissed him. In his enthusiasm to return the kiss, Giles spilled the fruity drink all over the bedsheets—_

* * *

 

“—come here,” Giles whispered, and kissed her. Jenny made a soft, shaky noise against his mouth and kissed him back—

* * *

_—the sheets would have to be changed, he was certain, though he felt ridiculous for fixating on such a thing when he was married, for the first time ever, and wasn’t it romantic, meeting his wife and knowing right off that she was the one he wanted to be with? Marrying her because he didn’t want to waste a day? Jenny pushed at his shoulders until he’d fallen back into the pillows, and then he heard a sound like tearing fabric._

_“Shit,” she laughed, pulling back, and Giles saw that the purple dress had ripped. “Okay, okay, hold on, I need to—”_

_“Take it off,” Giles suggested._

_“Mmm, sounds good,” Jenny agreed—_

* * *

 

“—only I wouldn’t want to pressure you into anything you aren’t ready for,” Giles murmured, breaking the kiss to rest his forehead against hers.

Jenny laughed softly. “Are you kidding?” she whispered. “Even after you found out I’m in Sunnydale watching a vampire with a soul, you’re still worrying about me? I can handle the decisions I make, Rupert. Kiss me.”

“No decision has been overtly made, Jenny,” Giles reminded her gently. “I did mean what I say about consent being important in this situation.”

Jenny smiled a little. “I want to sleep with you,” she said softly. “I want to be close to you.”

Giles studied Jenny, a lump in his throat. He was more than aware that Jenny’s vulnerability was something he hadn’t truly earned. Taking advantage of it under false pretenses didn’t feel right, no matter how very deeply he returned her feelings. The truth had to come out now, before they became even closer. “Jenny,” he began. “I have to tell you—”

Jenny exhaled, almost a laugh. “Whatever it is,” she said, “can it please wait? I’ve wanted—I _want_ this. And I’m not stupid, Rupert, I know there’s still gonna be stuff I don’t know about you. That’s okay. I just wanna be with you right now.”

Giles wavered—

* * *

 

_—his hands fluttered nervously to rest at her waist, gentle and careful. Out of the dress, she looked so much smaller, less polished and perfect. He felt as though he might hurt her if he wasn’t paying enough attention._

_“I’m not a china doll, husband,” she said, trying out the word with a giggle. “Husband. God. Not gonna get used to that any time soon.”_

_“Do you regret it?” he asked._

_She didn’t hesitate. “No.”_

_His hands gripped her waist as he kissed her—_

* * *

 

—and kissed her, and kissed her, and carried her into the bedroom, overbalancing in the doorway so that they half-fell onto the bed. There was a sudden sense of urgency to Jenny’s kisses, one that Giles could understand. Their connection still felt so tenuous, especially after how easily he had been able to believe that there might be some—

“Catch,” he realized, and laughed a little.

“Huh?” Jenny blinked at him, moving up to lean back against the headboard. Her disheveled hair and half-unbuttoned blouse were bringing back _much_ more explicit memories of their wedding night.

“I find it so hard to believe that you can just be _you,_ ” said Giles softly. “Much as you feel like there has to be a catch for me just being _me._ The likelihood of me marrying someone so, so kind, so brave, not just a belligerent stranger who microwaves plastic—”

“Now that’s the way I want people to describe me _all_ the time,” said Jenny, and while her words were playful, her smile was something more akin to loving. “Come here, Rupert.”

“Yes, dear,” said Giles, a low purr, and her answering shiver was _delicious_ as he moved up the bed to press her into the pillows.


	10. interlude: the new arrivals

“Janna,” Giles whispered into her hair, trying out the name, and he heard her quiet intake of breath. “How’s that?”

“I—” Jenny sniffled, then laughed. “Thought I’d never get to hear anyone say that name again,” she said. “I’m glad to hear it from you. But I don’t think I like it quite so much as I do whenever you call me _Jenny.”_

 _I do know her,_ Giles thought. _She’s always been honest with me._ He knew he should feel guilty, but he was too busy kissing her neck to think long-term. “How long till we have to get up?” he mumbled.

“Never,” said Jenny.

“ _Jenny.”_

“Did you marry me expecting responsibility?” Jenny cupped his face in her hands, kissing him. “I wanna stay in. Let’s stay in.”

“You are a _terrible influence,_ ” Giles growled, pulling her against him. She shrieked, laughing, as he flipped them over, her legs around his waist as he kissed her and kissed her and—and that was the alarm, wasn’t it?

“Mmm, no,” Jenny objected as Giles pulled away to turn it off. “Rupert, c’mon, there’s _nothing_ to do at school today!”

“You’d really rather stay at home than upend my library in a computerized crusade?” Giles teased. “If that’s what it takes to dissuade you from digitization, I should have just seduced you months ago.”

“You wouldn’t have pulled it off,” said Jenny. “I have high standards.” Off Giles’s look, she fell back into the bed, giggling.

Giles kissed her temple and clambered off the bed, picking his glasses up from the top of the bureau and donning his bathrobe. Jenny’s laughter followed him into the bathroom, and he could hear the rustle of bedsheets as she herself got up.

It was in these moments, when he was alone, that the quiet guilt once again set in. Jenny saw him as uncomplicated, someone unencumbered by supernatural responsibilities. By not telling her who he was, he was taking away her right to choose to be with him. And yet the thought of her knowing him completely and turning him away was too horrible a concept for him to fathom, especially when she knew more of him than he had ever let anyone see before.

“Ooh, you’ve got a sexy broody face on,” said Jenny, twining her arms around his waist from behind. “You gonna go all tortured-Angel on me?”

“Hardly,” said Giles, trying to smile as she kissed him on the cheek.

“Good,” said Jenny, nipping at his earlobe. Giles _did_ smile at that, coupled with a slightly breathless laugh as her lips moved to his neck, and his guilt was very deliberately forgotten.

* * *

 

Giles was in the process of bringing out the new arrivals for Jenny’s class to digitize, and some of the boxes were resting on the table when they arrived in the library that morning. Jenny seemed happy enough with the selection, declaring it “a great first attempt,” but she also seemed quite hell-bent on eventually digitizing Giles’s entire library.

“I don’t know if we have time enough for that this year,” said Giles warily.

“So next year,” said Jenny, and then blushed.

Giles’s heart skipped. “Next year,” he agreed, grinning a bit, and tugged Jenny in for a kiss.

“Oh, ugh,” said Buffy. “Can you guys start putting up warning signs?”

Giles and Jenny turned. Buffy, carrying a large crate of books, had screwed her face up in disgust, and Xander was rolling his eyes. Willow, however, beamed at Giles, giving him a thumbs-up. “Thank you, Willow,” said Giles with dignity. Jenny laughed.

“So nothing weird on the supernatural horizon, right?” said Xander.

“Not as far as we know,” said Jenny with a shrug.

“Though you probably just jinxed it, Xander,” Willow added affectionately.

“Let’s try and think positively here,” said Buffy, firmly and cheerfully determined. “We’re all coming in to help digitize some boring books, Giles is probably gonna learn how to use a computer—”

“I never agreed to that,” said Giles indignantly.

“Ru-pert,” Jenny wheedled, “marriage is about compromises!”

It was bloody unfair, the way Jenny had him wrapped round her little finger. “Fine,” Giles mumbled. “I’ll—I’ll watch you use that dread machine. But I can’t promise I’ll pick anything up!” he added at Jenny’s huge smile.

“You know you could make him do anything, right?” said Xander to Jenny. “And here you are wasting it on getting him to learn how to use a computer.”

“Xander, I can _assure_ you that I’ve been making Rupert do things to me that are a lot better than computer sciences,” said Jenny seriously.

“Please stop mortifying me in front of my students,” said Giles.

“Never,” said Jenny, patting him on the shoulder.

“ _Anyway,”_ said Xander loudly. “Can we please talk about the new arrivals? There was this one box that I think needs a crowbar or something, because I couldn’t—”

“Let me try,” said Buffy, heading towards the table to the nailed-shut box. As easily as if she were opening a can of soda, she took the lid off, setting it to the side. “Oh, great!” she said, pulling a dusty volume out. “A book.”

“Ugh,” said Jenny. “Is everything in this library grimy and ancient? Barring you, sweetie, you’re perfect,” she added in Giles’s direction, hurrying over to take the book from Buffy. Blowing the dust off the cover, she stopped. “Hold on.”

“What is it?” Giles asked.

Jenny held up the book.

Giles blinked, recognizing the binding and the cover illustration. If he wasn’t mistaken… “Might I see that?” he said uneasily, taking a step towards Jenny.

“No!” Jenny yanked it away from him. At Giles’s startled look, she exhaled. “Sorry. Just…Rupert, this is very dangerous. I don’t want you reading it aloud and getting hurt by accident.”

Giles stared, feeling himself blush. “You know what it is?” he murmured.

“I…” Jenny trailed off, a bit pink herself. “Wasn’t really expecting _you_ to, but damn if you don’t surprise me.”

“Oh, ew,” said Buffy. “This is worse than the kissing. Can you guys _not_ do the weird nerd flirting while we’re in the room?”

“No promises.” Jenny set the book down on the table. “I don’t exactly recognize the _exact_ demon that might be in this book—”

“There’s a demon in that book?” demanded Xander. “Why is there a demon in that book?”

“Oh my gosh, we could have _scanned_ that book!” Willow gasped. “What if it had ended up in the Internet?”

“A demon in the Internet?” Buffy snickered. “No offense, Willow, but that’s a little silly.”

“Moloch,” said Giles, stepping to look over Jenny’s shoulder. “The Corrupter.”

“ _Exactly_ that,” said Jenny, sounding surprised. “Have you been doing some extra research?”

“Bit of light reading,” said Giles uncomfortably.

“Then you’ll know we need to destroy this book,” said Jenny decisively.

“Yes, I quite—wait, what?” Giles stared at Jenny, horrified. “Destroy it?”

“No faster way to kill your marriage than telling Giles you want to destroy a book, Ms. Calendar,” quipped Xander. Willow stepped on his foot.

“Well, we can’t just seal it back up and wait for someone else to find it,” said Jenny, looking honestly bemused by Giles’s indignance. “That thing’s a powder keg waiting to blow. Anyone who knew about it could use it to hurt people.”

“So we make sure they don’t know about it,” said Giles stiffly.

“Why the hell can’t we just destroy it?” Jenny countered, eyes narrowed.

“Jenny, it’s _history,_ ” said Giles plaintively. “Regardless of the horrors it contains, it’s still a record that we can use to _learn_ from. Burning the parts of our pasts that we aren’t proud of…that’s no way to live. History is important, whatever context it is in.”

Jenny was smiling slightly as she reached up to squeeze his shoulder. “Rupert,” she said, “that was an incredibly touching speech, and I _completely_ agree that this book holds historical value, but you’re still talking about the magical equivalent of a nuclear bomb. We can spend a few days writing up a comprehensive study if it’ll make you feel better, but Moloch is historically an incredibly violent and horrific demon. It’s pretty much our responsibility to make sure he never walks the earth again.”

Giles stared.

“What?”

“Well, we’re—actually discussing this,” said Giles weakly. “The last time we had an ideological disagreement, you locked me out of the house and wouldn’t let me in till sunset.”

Buffy giggled. “Really?” she asked Jenny.

“Really,” said Jenny, giving Buffy a wry smile before turning back to Giles. “Well, at this point I trust that you respect what I have to say,” she said simply. “That’s really all it takes for me to, you know,  _not_ lock you out of the house.”

“You are surprisingly easy to please when I’m not being an idiot,” said Giles, which made Jenny laugh. God, he loved making her laugh. “I—don’t exactly like destroying something of historical value,” he continued tentatively, “but I do see your point. It has the potential to cause a lot of harm.”

“And we can still write a thorough report, if we want,” Jenny encouraged him.

“We?” said Giles.

“Yeah, okay, mostly you,” said Jenny, wrinkling her nose. “There’s only so many musty old antiquities I can take.”

“Aww, don’t say that in front of Giles!” Buffy gasped. “He’ll think you don’t want to be around him anymore!” Jenny snorted, then gave Giles an apologetic look; Giles tried not to laugh himself.

* * *

 

Jenny taught Giles computer basics while the children were scanning the new arrivals. Under most circumstances, Giles would be entirely averse to the notion, but something that so fascinated Jenny was more than worth exploring.

“It’s beeping,” he said uneasily.

“Yeah, it does that,” said Jenny affectionately.

“Fighting a losing battle there, Ms. Calendar,” said Xander.

“Does that sound like scanning, Rupert?” Jenny asked, cocking her head.

“It really doesn’t, Jenny,” said Giles innocently.

Xander, getting the message, hastily went back to scanning. Willow, looking amused, crossed the room to peer over Giles’s shoulder. “You’ve got him typing!” she said proudly.

“We’re shooting to integrate him into the twentieth century before it’s over,” Jenny explained, grinning when Giles rolled his eyes. “Next I’m thinking emails.”

“I really don’t see the point of electronic mail,” said Giles, mostly just to push Jenny’s buttons. “Who even takes the time to turn _on_ this contraption?”

“Um, your wife?” teased Jenny, unfazed. “Who you married? This _contraption_ might someday have the capacity to store this entire library.”

“I find it hard to believe that any computer can replicate the reading experience,” Giles pointed out.

“The printed page is obsolete,” said one of the students suddenly. “Information isn’t bound up anymore—it’s an entity. If you’re not jacked in, you’re not alive.”

Jenny and Giles exchanged a look. Then Jenny said, “Well, that’s definitely _one_ way to put it,” and brought up Giles’s email on the computer screen.


	11. the talent show

Giles thought he might have minded overseeing the talent show quite a bit more if not for Jenny. Bothersome as it was to be expected to take time away from his duties as a Watcher, he couldn’t quite get over how delightful it was to spend that time entirely with his wife, who had been forcibly delegated to help at his side. Much like him, Jenny was quite pleased about the close proximity that this allowed them, but she wasn’t at all happy that Snyder was very clearly trying to get back at her for not passing any of his failing athletes.

“It’s a complete lack of administrative integrity!” she was ranting, painting violent splashes of color across the backdrop for the first act. A splotch of paint very nearly hit Giles, who winced anyway. “He’s using his position for something petty and stupid! If I could just, like, wait till he’s inevitably killed by something, then take his job—”

“—my library would be digitized already, I’m sure,” Giles finished, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She smiled a little tiredly, relaxing at his touch. “And for the record, usurping the position of our utterly odious supervisor, no matter how suited you yourself are for it, errs a bit on the side of unprofessionalism.”

“Just a bit,” said Jenny, mouth twitching.

“Just a bit, yes.” Giles was doing his best to tone down public displays of affection in the workplace, if only because of the many objections raised by Buffy and Xander (Willow didn’t seem to mind), so he settled for taking her hand and lightly kissing the knuckles. Her smile softened. “You’ll be finished with the backdrop in a minute, yes? Cordelia’s up next to rehearse her act and I, ah,” he winced delicately, “may need the moral support.”

“Of course,” Jenny agreed.

Just as Giles was about to head towards the auditorium, he heard the clatter of footsteps. Turning with slow reluctance, he saw Buffy, Willow, and Xander rounding the corner. “Kindly don’t put me through the wringer,” he said ruefully. “This was certainly not my choice.”

“Yeah, Snyder roped us into it,” said Jenny. “Willow, can you help me with this backdrop?”

“What? Oh!” Willow, blushing nearly as red as her hair, all but tripped over herself in her hurry to help Jenny.

“Buffy—” began Giles, attempting to replicate Jenny’s casual tone.

“Nope,” said Buffy.

“Lovely,” said Giles. “Can’t as much as get a word in edgewise before I’m shot down.”

“Hey, I mostly showed up to take on _your_ traditional role!” said Buffy, grinning. “You know, watching? This’d be _really_ funny to watch if it was just you doing it.”

“Yeah, too bad you and Ms. Calendar are rocking the whole showbiz-couple thing,” added Xander, who had somehow been commandeered into painting Jenny’s section of the backdrop. “Otherwise, you can _bet_ we’d be laying on the constant mockery.”

“I’d help,” said Jenny, and kissed Giles on the cheek, leaving a green handprint on the shoulder of his vest. She winced. “Whoops.”

“Marriage to you, my love, is a series of unexpected consequences,” said Giles, smiling slightly. “I would never have signed up if I didn’t enjoy them.”

Jenny opened her mouth, then shut it. She’d gone a bit pink.

“Oooh, Giles has _game!”_ Buffy teased, then grimaced. “And _that’s_ a sentence I never wanted to say. Or hear.”

“Um,” said Jenny, and cleared her throat. “We should go out and watch Cordelia, huh?”

Giles extended his arm. Jenny took it. They were about to exit the backstage area when Principal Snyder entered, looking as ill-tempered as always. “Unprofessional,” he informed Giles and Jenny’s linked arms. “And what are those three doing here? They didn’t sign up for the talent show.”

“We just wanted to check in on Mr. Giles and Ms. Calendar!” babbled Willow. “Ms. Calendar’s my favorite teacher, she’s really great—”

“Save the praise, Rosenberg,” said Snyder, glowering. “All three of you left campus yesterday.”

“Yeah, but we were fighting a—” Buffy was cut off by a swift elbow to the side from Willow.

“Fighting?” Snyder echoed, eyes gleaming.

“Not fighting!” squeaked Willow.

“Yeah, we left to _avoid_ fighting,” Xander added.

Giles and Jenny exchanged a look.

“Real antisocial types,” said Snyder. “You need to integrate into this school, people.” Crossing his arms, he said decisively, “I think I just found three eager new participants for the talent show.”

“What?” said Buffy.

“No!” said Xander.

“Please?” said Willow.

“Actually, Principal Snyder,” said Jenny with a saccharine smile, “the kids are helping me out backstage. It’s not exactly performing, but Rupert and I could do with three extra pairs of hands. You know. Seeing as neither my husband nor myself have any theater background, but you put us in charge anyway.”

Principal Snyder stared at Jenny, eyes narrowed. “Are you contesting my authority, Ms. Calendar?”

A dangerously playful look in her eyes, Jenny opened her mouth. Sensing a potential calamity, Giles placed a hand at the small of his wife’s back—more a gentle reminder than a reprimand. She froze, looked up at him, and then sighed, turning back to Snyder. “No, Principal Snyder, I’m really not,” Jenny said reluctantly.

“We merely believe that these students would be better socially integrated through assigning them the work that’s already readily available,” Giles explained. “Not to mention that Jenny’s the most aware of what this production needs, seeing as her tireless work has largely contributed to the—”

“Save me the thesis statement, Mr. Giles,” snapped Snyder. “Just make sure those kids are put to work.” He turned, stomping out.

“Ms. Calendar, you’re a lifesaver,” said Xander emphatically.

“I think I’d have died if I’d had to perform,” Willow mumbled.

“I can’t take _all_ the credit,” said Jenny, who was still glaring after Snyder’s retreating form. “Mostly I just wanted to stick it to Snyder. That man thinks he can come in and order me around just because he’s—”

“Our employer?” said Giles.

“ _Ugh,_ ” said Jenny.

“Well, as long as I’m not reading some dumb monologue, I’m good,” said Buffy cheerfully, and went back to painting the backdrop.

* * *

 

“So,” said Giles. “Any thoughts on the talent show?”

“As soon as this thing’s over I’m setting the entire auditorium ablaze,” said Jenny, who was lying sprawled across the couch. She hadn’t yet taken off her jacket and heels, and didn’t look like she had the energy to. “I signed up for sponsoring maybe one school club at _most,_ and now I have to listen to Cordelia Chase butcher Whitney Houston? God, I wish I’d been the teacher to end up headless in a freezer. At least then my _ears_ wouldn’t hurt so much.”

“You have a very wonderful head,” Giles reminded Jenny, amused by her theatrics. “It’d be a shame for it to go missing.” He crossed the room, dropping a kiss to Jenny’s temple. She gave him a small, tired smile. “I’ll make you dinner, dear, how’s that?” he suggested.

“You always make dinner,” said Jenny, reaching up to play with his tie. “I want to order in.”

“It’s the _principle_ of the thing, Jenny, I like taking _care_ of you—”

“—and I like snuggling on the couch with you while we watch whatever’s on TV, which I can’t _do_ if you’re all the way over _there.”_ Jenny waved a hand in the general direction of the kitchenette. “I’m all achy and I’ve been on my feet painting for _way_ too long and if I want my husband to cuddle me he should really just do what I say—”

Giles leaned down and kissed Jenny. “I’ll get your shoes off, if you like,” he offered.

“You’re the best husband,” Jenny mumbled. “You’re, like, the _best_ husband.”

“Am I the _best_ husband or _like_ the best husband?” said Giles, tugging off Jenny’s shoes. “There’s a distinct difference.”

“God, I love you,” said Jenny, a half-laugh in her voice.

Absolutely everything that Giles had been thinking— _perhaps we should order pizza, I need to restock the green paint in the school supply closet, what happens if this lie I continue to tell my wife has consequences I did not anticipate—_ came to a complete and utter standstill at those words. He tried to think of—something, _anything_ beyond this terrifying, dizzying mixture of incredible elation and incredible horror, but nothing could come to mind. She loved him. She loved him, and she didn’t know he was a Watcher.

But before he could stumble through some sort of clumsy response, Jenny said shakily, and very fast, “I just meant—I mean, we’ve been spending a lot of time together, and—fuck. Rewind. Can I just, just take that all back?”

Giles felt a lump in his throat at the fear in Jenny’s eyes. “Do you want to?”

A beat. Then Jenny raised herself up on her elbows, pressing her mouth clumsily to his. It was a kiss without her usual finesse, but it was heartfelt in a way that Giles hadn’t ever thought he would experience, and he kissed her back with that same half-frightened urgency.

“I really didn’t mean to say that,” Jenny mumbled. This was not at all close to taking her words back. Giles’s heart was pounding as he pulled back to look at her. “You don’t have to—to say it back, I didn’t even mean to tell you _now,_ I—”

Admitting to himself that he was anywhere close to loving Jenny meant admitting that Jenny needed to know he was a Watcher. Telling Jenny that someone she cared deeply for had been lying to her from the very first day they met would shatter her, _especially_ after she had been so vulnerable with him not two weeks ago. “I don’t know if I—” Giles began, hating himself. Jenny deserved a man who could accept her love, something that (he realized this now) she was utterly unaccustomed to giving.

Jenny drew in a half-sobbing breath. “No, it’s okay, it’s okay,” she managed, bumping her nose against his. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I shouldn’t have—it’s _way_ too soon, I know that, I just—”

Giles kissed her again, hoping that his actions might convey what his words couldn’t.

* * *

 

Jenny took a bit longer than usual getting ready for bed that night, and Giles stayed up to wait for her, flipping nervously through a book without really registering what he was reading. When she finally arrived, she hesitated by the door, looking apprehensively at Giles. “I, I can sleep on the couch,” she began.

“Come here,” said Giles quietly. “This doesn’t change a thing.”

“You promise?”

“Why on earth would I lie to you?” Giles asked, and winced.

Jenny didn’t seem to notice his discomfort. Her eyes were on her neatly painted toenails. “It was a moment of weakness, okay?” she said. “It wasn’t—I don’t—”

“Love isn’t weakness,” said Giles. “Who on earth told you that?”

Jenny didn’t answer.

Giles extricated himself awkwardly from the blankets, then crossed the room, stopping in front of Jenny. He tilted her chin up, then cupped her face in one hand. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes. Something warm unfurled in his chest at the way her eyelashes fluttered, but…that wouldn’t do. For her protection, for the Slayer’s safety, for the sake of generations of secrecy, he couldn’t tell her he was a Watcher, and he couldn’t tell her he loved her.

He let his hand drop.

* * *

 

The murder of one of the dancers in the talent show didn’t help matters in the slightest. Buffy was convinced that the perpetrator was demonic in origin, which meant that Giles would inevitably be prodded into researching vague snippets of information. Emily’s friends were too distraught to continue their act, which meant an entire reconfiguration of the talent show. And Jenny…was making herself scarce, mostly, which left Giles with a terrible feeling in his chest. He had never once considered the possibility of losing Jenny outside the possibility of Jenny finding out the truth, solely because he had never once considered the possibility of too-good-to-be-true Jenny Calendar falling in love with him.

Buffy, of course, hadn’t picked up on the change between Giles and Jenny, so focused was she on Emily’s murder, and in better circumstances this would make Giles proud of his Slayer’s ability to block out anything besides potential threats. Xander was too busy trying to figure out how to look like he was helping with the talent show (while not really helping at all) to notice anything outside that. But Willow, as always, was frustratingly attuned to Jenny’s moods, and came up to Giles in private after their first round of questioning students who might have been involved in Emily’s demise.

“So, hey, Ms. Calendar seems a little sad lately,” said Willow, sounding determinedly chipper. “And that’s pretty weird, considering how well you guys were getting along a few days ago—”

“I _don’t_ want to talk about it,” said Giles sharply. The memory of Jenny’s pained expression that night in his room stuck with him, and he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her more. How would that even go? _Your statement was nowhere close to premature, I have fallen madly in love with you when I wasn’t expecting it, and there has never been a moment we’ve known each other without my omissions between us. You make me feel happier than I’ve ever been, especially when I’m lying to your face. Being your husband has been a privilege and an honor, even as I treat you like an inconvenience—_

“I think you should,” said Willow, her smile fading. “Talk, I mean. Maybe not with me—okay, definitely not with me, I don’t think I can work out marriage stuff—but probably with Ms. Calendar.”

“I still haven’t told her,” said Giles.

Willow blinked, then frowned. “Giles, I think you need to,” she said.

“If I tell her and I lose her—”

“—then that’s her choice to make,” Willow finished. “And it’s better than her finding out some other way, isn’t it? What if she comes into the library and sees you training Buffy? You can bet she’s not gonna be happy. Plus,” she blushed, smiling dreamily, “it’d be kinda nice to have Ms. Calendar hanging around the library more often.”

Giles swallowed. “I quite agree,” he said finally. “But I think it should wait until we’ve found out a bit more about what Morgan Shay might be up to.”

He’d been saying this sort of thing quite a lot since the morgue-drawer kiss. _I’ll tell her after the hyena mess clears up. I’ll tell her after I know what’s going on with Angel. I’ll tell her after patrol, after school, after everything is perfect and I know she’ll be safe._ At this point, Giles thought, there was little to no chance that he would follow up on it, especially not now—not when telling Jenny had the potential to hurt her even more than he already had.

Everything he did seemed to hurt Jenny, one way or another. Part of him was beginning to think that this marriage _should_ have had an end date stamped on it way back in the beginning, when they were planning the whole thing. But then, even at the beginning, he’d been rather taken with the idea of staying married to Jenny. After what had felt like a lifetime of loneliness, the concept of some sort of companionship had been too much to resist.

Willow gave him a dubious look, but dropped the subject, hurrying out of the office after Xander and Buffy. Giles sat down and took a cup of tea, trying not to think about the fact that Jenny usually stopped by for lunch around this hour.

* * *

 

“I don’t see why I have to follow Brett and his stupid band!” Cordelia was objecting when Giles entered the auditorium.

“Because we have to clear the stage for the finale, Cordy, we’ve been _over_ this,” said Jenny thinly. Giles’s heart caught at the sight of her; she looked _terrible._ Angry and miserable, clutching a large stack of flyers to her chest, and very obviously unable to handle Cordelia’s complaints. She hadn’t yet noticed Giles, who found himself feeling somehow worse at the sight of her. She’d been long gone when he woke up that morning, and had left for school without him, marking the second day that Giles had woken up alone.

Giles decided to intervene. “Cordelia,” he said, stepping up next to Jenny (she stiffened), and then frowned theatrically, directing his gaze at her hair.

“What?” said Cordelia.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Giles, doing his best to sound embarrassed. “It’s just…your hair?”

Cordelia reeled. “There’s something wrong with my hair?” she gasped. “ _Oh_ my god!” Without preamble, she turned, dashing out of the auditorium.

“Xander was right,” said Giles, amused. “Worked like a charm.” He didn’t dare look over at Jenny.

Jenny sighed. “Thanks,” she said quietly.

Giles nodded, eyes still on the empty space where Cordelia had been. “Of course,” he said.

Jenny exhaled. “I didn’t mean to make it weird,” she said. “I don’t usually get this clingy this fast.”

Every single self-deprecating remark of Jenny’s hurt Giles so much more than he had expected. There was no way out of their marriage that didn’t end in disaster for Giles, but he’d thought that he could have at least spared Jenny the heartache. “I—” he began, turning slowly to face Jenny, lost in all the things he wanted to tell her.

“Giles, have you seen Morgan?” Buffy called, a strange, flat note to her voice.

“I’m sorry?” said Giles, turning away from Jenny.

“We can talk later,” said Jenny, and hurried away, pushing past Buffy, Willow, and Xander.

“Is Ms. Calendar okay?” Buffy asked, peering around Giles at the discarded flyers. “Willow says she’s just been handing out worksheets in class.”

“And aren’t we all grateful for that!” said Xander jovially, but his smile flickered as he saw the way Jenny was leaning against the stage. “Hey, Giles, what’s going on?”

Willow looked up at Giles with a pointed expression. “I think you should tell them,” she said.

Buffy and Xander exchanged a bemused look. “Tell us what?” Buffy asked.

“Frankly, Willow, anything going on between myself and Jenny shall remain—” Giles began sharply.

“Normally I’d agree with you, but this is getting ridiculous,” said Willow. She was _glaring._ Giles hadn’t once seen Willow glare, and certainly not at _him._ “Giles, Ms. Calendar’s been miserable. She’s been ignoring her lesson plan and giving us worksheets so she can program in a sulk without being interrupted. And you’re keeping a whole big secret from her, _and_ a whole big secret from Buffy and Xander—”

“Because it is _none_ of their business!” snapped Giles. “And frankly, Willow, it isn’t yours either!”

“Well, maybe it should be!” Willow shot back. “You’re _hurting_ her, Giles—”

“Willow.”

Willow froze. Buffy and Xander now looked extremely unnerved. Giles, exhausted, turned to face Jenny, who was looking steadily and tiredly at all of them. “Jenny, I’m sorry,” he said. “The children seem to have picked up on—”

“Yeah, I can see that,” said Jenny. “Willow, don’t harass my husband. He’s right. It isn’t any of your business what’s going on between us, and you should know better than to tell him off for something you don’t completely understand.”

“Ms. Calendar—” Willow began, looking a mixture of horrified and furious.

“Don’t,” said Jenny. She gave Giles a small, sad smile. “Rupert, I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s true that I haven’t been handling our personal stuff well, and if it’s starting to affect my work, I think we should probably talk about it. If—that’s okay with you?”

Giles didn’t know how to respond to that. There was a painful lump in his throat. “You’re not at fault, Jenny,” he said. “It’s my own cowardice that’s causing us both all the trouble. But yes. We should talk after school, before the talent show starts.”

Jenny was looking at him a little differently, now. At the word _cowardice,_ her lips had parted, and there was a small spark of hope in her eyes. Giles felt a flutter in his chest; she had become rather adept at reading between the lines, with him, and now seemed no exception. “I love you, you know,” she said, lightly enough that it wasn’t quite clear whether or not she was saying it as his fake wife or as Jenny Calendar.

It was a clear invitation, a way for Giles to respond in kind without the consequences of a true declaration of love. And it made him love her all the more, for trying to help even a complete idiot like himself, but he couldn’t take the coward’s way out. If ever he told Jenny he loved her, it would be without pretense. “I know,” he said quietly, and reached out to her, but she was already turning and hurrying out of the auditorium.

Buffy and Xander exchanged a concerned look. Willow, however, had gone from infuriated to a pained understanding. “Oh,” she said. “Huh.”

“Yes,” said Giles, uncomfortably aware of the fact that Willow was smart enough to piece the mess together. “Well. Buffy, you mentioned wanting to talk to Morgan?”

* * *

 

Buffy seemed rather stuck on the concept of Morgan’s dummy being behind the murders, which Giles severely doubted. Still, every theory merited investigation, and a second day of after-school research seemed apropos. A few quiet hours in the library would also enable Giles to have some sort of a conversation with Jenny while the children looked for more information, which terrified him thoroughly. He would have to tell her the truth about himself, he knew, but he just so didn’t _want_ to. She’d be angry, or worse, hurt, and it would throw yet another complication into an already muddled arrangement.

Arms full of costumes, Giles followed Willow and Buffy into the library, where they found Xander sitting at the desk with Morgan’s odd little dummy.

“Where did you get that?” said Buffy uncomfortably.

“Took it out of Mrs. Jackson’s cupboard,” said Xander nonchalantly. “You said you wanted to speak to Morgan alone, so, well…”

Giles set the costumes down, turning to Willow. “You and I have some hunting of our own to do,” he said. Willow was really the only one he trusted around his books, especially after what Xander had called The Orange Pop Rock Catastrophe and Giles had called a sticky mess on the encyclopedias.

Willow wavered. “Giles,” she said. “Ms. Calendar’s right that it’s not any of my business. But it bothers me that—”

“Willow, I am well aware that I have thoroughly mishandled the situation,” said Giles stiffly. “My primary goal is to hurt Jenny as little as possible, and it’s becoming incredibly difficult to do that right now.”

Willow seemed satisfied with this answer. “Then you’d better tread carefully,” she said, not unkindly, and set her own pile of costumes down, heading up into the stacks.

Buffy, meanwhile, was heading out of the library to find Morgan; as she exited, she held the door open for Jenny, who looked a little taken aback at Willow and Xander’s presence.

“Isn’t that Morgan Shay’s dummy?” Jenny asked warily.

“I’ve found it best to ask as little as possible,” said Giles, trying to smile. It came off as more of a nervous grimace. “Should we—”

“Yeah, okay,” said Jenny, and stepped into Giles’s office, sitting down on his desk.

Giles followed her in, shutting the door. “Jenny,” he began.

Jenny held up a hand. “This isn’t your issue,” she said. “Okay? This is mine. Regardless of how you feel about me, I don’t want Willow Rosenberg jumping down your throat because she thinks you’re a bad husband. And if she’s been noticing my moping around over the last two days, I’d say that’s a pretty reasonable conclusion to make, which is entirely my fault. So before we get going on whatever it is you’re afraid of, I need you to know that I’m sorry.”

“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for,” said Giles immediately.

Jenny fixed him with a fondly exasperated look. “You’re kinda bad at taking apologies,” she said.

“When they’re not needed—” Giles began helplessly.

“I don’t think you’re the one who gets to decide what I’m sorry about.”

“I think, if an apology is directed at me, I am within reasonable grounds to dismiss it as completely unnecessary—” Belatedly, Giles realized how _horribly_ he had put his foot in his mouth.

“And I think calling my apology _unnecessary_ but not telling me why I shouldn’t be apologizing is ridiculous!” snapped a clearly humiliated Jenny.

“Guys!” shouted Xander, barging into the office. “Sid’s gone!”

“What?” said Giles, realized what might have happened, and narrowly resisted the urge to jump atop the desk next to Jenny.

“Sid as in the dummy?” said Jenny slowly. “As in Morgan Shay’s dummy?”

Willow tumbled in after Xander, waving a book in hand. “Guys, listen to this!” she gasped, leaning against the doorframe to catch her breath. _“On rare occasions inanimate objects of human quality, such as dolls and mannequins, already mystically possessed of consciousness, have acted upon their desire to become human by harvesting organs.”_

“Emily’s heart,” said Giles, nauseated.

“And it’d sure explain where Sid’s gone off to,” Xander added, looking pale.

“You know what?” said Jenny suddenly. “I can’t deal with any of this right now.” She slid off Giles’s desk. “I’m going to go home,” she said to a spot on the wall. “I’m going to go home until I’m needed for the talent show and, and not think about any of this, okay? Okay.”

“Jenny,” said Giles, feeling _awful._ This was really the worst possible outcome. “We still have to talk—”

“Heard you loud and clear, Rupert,” said Jenny, still not looking at him. “Let me know when I’m necessary again.” She hurried out of the office.

“What is going _on_ with you two?” said Xander, sounding genuinely concerned.

“She knows there’s a creepy dummy running around trying to kill people, right?” Willow added uneasily.

“I need a cup of tea,” said Giles, a lump in his throat.

* * *

 

Buffy arrived with the dummy in tow. Sid then proceeded to tell them a tale the likes of which Giles had never anticipated. A demon hunter, cursed to be a living dummy until all the demons were killed…well, at least Giles’s initial research into demons that needed a heart and a brain to look human was of some use to the situation. Still, it was rather nice to have someone else explaining everything for a change, especially in his state of distraction. He said as such to Sid, who nodded.

“There were seven of them,” Sid informed the room at large. “I’ve killed six. One more and the curse gets lifted. I’m sure it’s someone in that stupid talent show.”

“Yeah, but our demon has his heart and his brain,” Buffy pointed out. “He’ll be moving on.”

“So once we know who’s missing from the show…” Sid began.

“We’ll know who our demon is,” Sid finished.

 _The show._ The phrase clicked in Giles’s head. _I’m going to go home until I’m needed for the talent show._ “The show!” he said.

“What?” said Buffy.

“I have to go, I-I’m needed there,” Giles stammered, and was about to all but race out of the room when Buffy caught his arm. “ _What,_ ” he said, his mind already on Jenny.

“Make sure you know who is and isn’t there!” Buffy reminded him.

“Yeah, form the power circle,” Sid chimed in.

“The what?” said Giles weakly.

“The power circle,” said Sid, looking about as close to bemused as a dummy could get. “You get everyone together, get ‘em revved up—”

“Right,” said Giles, shaking off Buffy’s arm and hurrying out of the library.

Backstage, the cast of Sunnydale High’s talent show was buzzing with activity when he entered. “Fifteen minutes to curtain!” Jenny was shouting, a last splotch of paint on her face, and Giles’s heart seized at the sight of her. She blinked, looking at him, and then turned away.

Giles hurried up to her. “Jenny, we need to talk,” he began.

“Save it for after the show,” said Jenny. “I have a whole bunch of equipment to set up.” Without waiting for his answer, she hurried away.

Giles swallowed, hard, and was knocked into by a wide-eyed Cordelia. “I can’t go out there!” she wailed. “All those people staring at me and judging me like I’m some kind of, of, _Buffy!_ What if I mess up?”

“I have no idea,” said Giles. “Frankly, I’m the last person you should ask about something like that right now. Excuse me.” He hurried to center stage, then called, “In five minutes we’ll, we’ll all assemble on the stage for the power, um, thing, all right?”

“Power circle in five!” Jenny shouted.

“Yes,” said Giles. “What she said.” Then he sat down on a nearby bench and tried not to feel too miserable about the whole affair, which didn’t really work.

Somebody sat down next to him. “That was _not_ helpful advice,” Cordelia informed him. “Don’t you have anything else to say?”

“Can’t you ask Jenny?” Giles asked heavily. “She’s a damn sight better at bouncing back than I am, Cordelia.”

“Obviously, because you’re in some kind of loser-librarian downward spiral right now, and that can _not_ happen when I’m about to go and sing onstage,” huffed Cordelia. “I need _sage advice,_ Giles. Hand some over.”

Giles looked up at her, trying to think of some inane bit of advice that might make her go away. “Um, picture the audience in their underwear,” he said.

“Even Mrs. Franklin?” Cordelia’s face screwed up. “Ew!” But she got up and left, still shuddering.

Giles pulled himself up from the bench as well. Jenny was shepherding students into the power circle, which gave him ample time to observe—

“Oh no, get over here,” said Jenny grimly, grabbing Giles’s hand and pulling him into the circle. “You’re not getting out of this one, Rupert.”

Giles did a rapid head count, then frowned: not a single person was missing. He counted again, but ended up with the same result.

“Okay, just—just—” Jenny waved a hand. “Good luck out there,” she said miserably, and tugged herself free of the power circle, all but running backstage. The students looked somewhat confused, but Marc the Magnificent cocked his head a little and followed her.

Giles decided to let Jenny deal with Marc herself; she certainly wouldn’t take kindly to his help at this juncture. As Buffy landed in front of him, he informed her nervously, “There’s no one missing.”

“So the demon isn’t in the show,” said Buffy.

“All right, well, you warn the others,” said Giles. “I’d best get this show started.”

But as it turned out, there really wasn’t all that much for Giles to do. All the students were already waiting in the wings, Marc the Magnificent had (presumably) set the stage for his performance, and Jenny—where  _was_ Jenny? Giles wavered, debating whether or not going after her was a good idea—

There was a loud _thud_ from the stage. Giles frowned. Had one of the props gone awry? There was that terrible guillotine of Marc’s that served no clear purpose whatsoever—

Giles was nearly bowled over by Buffy, who registered his presence and skidded to a stunned stop. “What?” she gasped out. “But—you’re Brain Man!”

“I’m sorry?” said Giles, bemused.

Willow reached them next, wheezing. “Not—Giles!” she gasped. “Ms. Calendar!”

Buffy went pale and ran for the stage.

“What on earth—” Giles began.

Xander steadied Willow, looking nauseous. “The demon’s in the show,” he said. “It doesn’t have a healthy brain. We thought it’d go after you—”

It took Giles a moment to fully understand what Xander and Willow were trying to tell him. It took him another moment to realize what the _thud_ must have been. He _ran,_ bursting through the curtains to find Buffy fighting Marc the Magnificent and Jenny—

Jenny was strapped, unconscious, to the guillotine bench, a blade poised to neatly chop off the part of her head containing her brain. Giles had to resist the very strong urge to full-on tackle Marc the Magnificent himself; as it was, he seriously considered it before the rope snapped. He lunged, grabbing it a second before it would have cut off Jenny’s head.

“Cutting it a little close there, Giles,” said Xander, his face pale.

“Pull that blade back up,” said Giles flatly, thrusting the rope into Xander’s hands. As Xander obliged, Giles ran to Jenny, undoing the restraints at her chest and feet. God, she would have died not knowing _anything_. She would have died knowing absolutely nothing. If he had told her that he wasn’t writing a book, that he was a Watcher, _anything_ of importance, she would never have been put in this position—

In Marc the Magnificent’s haste to kill Jenny, he’d forgotten to lock the head restraint in place. Giles lifted it, pulling Jenny off the bench. Scooping her up in a bridal carry, he staggered back, hitting the curtain and very nearly falling to the stage floor.

The demon had been kicked into the guillotine. This was, of course, when Jenny stirred. “Ow,” she whispered, one hand fluttering to touch the bruise on her forehead. _“Ow!_ Rupert, did Marc punch me out or am I just imagining—”

“I love you,” said Giles, dizzy with relief. “So much.”

Jenny smiled slightly. “Cool,” she mumbled, and turned her face into his chest. 

* * *

 

Giles bid the children a hasty goodbye and informed Snyder that he would be taking Jenny home, claiming a prop malfunction had led to injury and playing up the concerned-husband factor to the best of his abilities (though very little of his concern was feigned). Supporting Jenny, he hurried out to the parking lot, carefully unlocking the car door.

“So, you, like, love me?” said Jenny, who still sounded a little woozy. “Like _love_ me love me?”

“I love you love you,” Giles agreed.

“You know I don’t _love_ you love you yet, right?” Jenny informed him. “I mean I love you, but I don’t know if I _love_ you, because that’s a whole buncha commitment and I’m still not even sure if I’m cool with being married. Even if it’s you and your nice face.”

“You did broach the subject,” Giles reminded Jenny, helping her into the car.

“It was an _accident,”_ said Jenny. “And you’ve been all twitchy ever since, and—and I should still be mad at you for being all twitchy, but right now my head _really_ hurts.” She tilted her head, looking up at him. “You _love_ me?”

The gravity of his words finally hit Giles, jerking him from exhausted relief into something not unlike panic. “I love you,” he said weakly, and the genuine emotion behind his words only intensified his worry.

Jenny gave him a small, crooked smile. “You’re really bad at this,” she said, and tugged at his hand, pulling him down into a clumsy, impassioned hug.

“Yes,” said Giles heavily. “I really, really am.”


	12. the worst-case scenarios

Before the talent show, Giles’s reason for not telling Jenny the truth had seemed absolutely infallible. Above all else, a Watcher had to maintain the secrecy of his calling, and informing others of his duties might make them into targets or put them otherwise in danger. But keeping Jenny in the dark had put her _directly_ in the line of fire, completely shattering the last real argument Giles had against not telling her. She had proven her trustworthiness time and time again, he had known her for _more_ than long enough to know how good a person she was, and she had already known about the supernatural from the get-go. The concept of attempting to protect her now seemed rather idiotic, especially when she had protected _him_ at every opportunity allowed to her.

There was one reason, however, that remained an incredible roadblock when it came to telling Jenny anything: the absolute trust in her eyes when she looked at him. She had placed her secrets and her heart with _him,_ and Giles was so terribly afraid of hurting her when he revealed what he hadn’t told her. He had waited too long to tell her the truth, he knew, but if he’d known he would _love_ her too much to risk losing her over his calling—

“Um, earth to Giles?” Buffy persisted. “Spiders? Crawling all around in the English classroom?”

“Spiders,” said Giles vaguely, only barely registering what Buffy was saying. “Splendid. I shall check my books for spiders, then. Thank you.”

“What is _up_ with you?” Buffy demanded.

“Hmm?” Giles did his best not to think about his marital affairs. This, he thought, was exactly what the Council would deem _inadequate prioritizing._ “I’m terribly sorry, Buffy,” he said. “Might you repeat what you need me to research?”

“ _Spiders,_ ” said Buffy with extreme impatience.

“I’ll need something a bit more specific than that,” said Giles pointedly.

“I _gave_ you an explanation, you just weren’t _listening!”_ said Buffy indignantly. Her expression changed into one of abject horror. “Oh my god. Is this what it’s like to be you?”

As Xander and Willow both started giggling, Giles sighed. “Again,” he said, “I _do_ apologize. If you would kindly elaborate regarding the spiders—”

“ _All in Wendell’s textbook,”_ said Buffy, as though she had said it more than once before. Granted, Giles probably wouldn’t have noticed if she had. “And from absolutely _nowhere._ One minute we were all reading about active listening, and the next, boom! Spiders.”

“That does seem, ah, anomalous,” Giles agreed with some discomfort. He had no problems with spiders, as long as they kept their feet off of _his_ books. “I shall do my best to look into it.”

“Look into what?” inquired Jenny, breezing in with an armful of snacks.

Giles caved. Jenny knew about their supernatural adventures, just…not his career as a Watcher. Perhaps he should ease her into it. “Spiders,” he said. “There was a rather unusual incident in Buffy’s class, and she suggested I research its causes.”

“Fun!” said Jenny, grinning. _God_ help him, he had drunkenly married the perfect woman.

“Research is _fun?”_ said Xander disbelievingly.

“I like spiders,” said Jenny, shrugging. “Also learning new things, but that’s mostly a side benefit.” She handed Willow and Buffy each a snack, gave the rest of the pile to Xander, and stepped up to Giles, giving him an apologetic smile. “I only have so many arms,” she said. “I hope you can survive without a bag of chips.”

“I’m sure I’ll live,” said Giles dryly.

“That’s the spirit,” said Jenny, gently bumping his shoulder. “Kids, you should probably get to class, okay? Rupert and I have the spider thing under control.”

“Keep him on task and _don’t_ do anything gross in the library!” Buffy called over her shoulder, following Willow and Xander into the hallway.

As soon as the children had exited, Jenny draped her arms around Giles’s neck, smiling beatifically up at him. “So, like, what I’m hearing is we just can’t get PG-13 with the excessive kissing,” she said.

“ _Research,_ Jenny,” said Giles. It was no longer possible to separate his guilt from their moments of intimacy.

“Oooh, he’s using his sexy-librarian voice,” Jenny teased, and tilted her head back, closing her eyes. When Giles didn’t lean in, she opened them again, an expression of genuine worry crossing her face. “You okay?”

“I’m a bit out of sorts today,” said Giles hesitantly. “I’m afraid I may not be up for anything outside researching, at the moment.”

“Of course,” said Jenny, her face softening. Standing on tiptoe, she brushed a gentle kiss against his mouth. “Point me in the direction of whatever upset you and I will _absolutely_ beat it up,” she informed him, giving him a lopsided smile.

Giles tried to smile back. “It’s merely my own poor decision-making that has me somewhat bothered,” he said honestly. “I’m sure it shall resolve itself relatively soon.”

* * *

 

He turned the Watchers’ diaries upside down for any mention of other Watchers who had found themselves in a similar situation to him. But the only mentions of family in any of the diaries came in the form of vague, oblique, often disinterested footnotes. _Sarah inquired as to my whereabouts today,_ one read. _I made it clear that she should not be asking such questions; she was abashed, but respected my position._ Honestly, all that this cemented was that most married Watchers were utter cads to their romantic partners, which made Giles feel even _worse_ for falling into that pattern. It had been different, before he had fallen truly in love. He had delighted in the thought of devoting himself to the job alone.

When research failed him, he drafted a speech. Or seven. But none of them quite adequately captured absolutely everything he wanted to say to her. _Jenny, there is something I have kept from you_ —but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her quite so bluntly. _Jenny, you know I love you—_ but that was using his love as an attempt to defend his dishonesty, and he couldn’t bring himself to do such a terrible thing. _Jenny, not everything I have told you is true—_ but that called everything he had told her into question, including his stumbling, heartfelt declarations of love. It would shatter him, thinking Jenny doubted his feelings for her.

There was a knock on his door. Relieved by the excuse to put his sorry task aside, Giles hurried to answer it. “Buffy,” he said with relief. “How was patrol?”

“Snoresville,” said Buffy, making a face. She peered over his shoulder, frowning. “That doesn’t look like spiders, Giles.”

“Yes, well…” Giles fumbled for some semblance of an excuse. “The information you gave me was rather vague,” he said. At Buffy’s indignant look, he hastily clarified, “I don’t blame you in the slightest! It’s simply that I think talking to Wendell himself might give us a sense of the matter’s root cause.”

Buffy relaxed. “Fair enough,” she said. “Where’s Jenny?”

“She went home early, I think,” said Giles, stepping in front of the seventh draft of his speech. “I should probably head in that direction myself. Do you need a ride to your mum’s?”

“Seriously?” Buffy grinned. “That would be _amazing._ Thank you so much!”

“Of course,” said Giles, relieved. Buffy’s company was always a sufficient enough distraction. “Do tell me about—um, your day? How have things been going in your classes?”

Buffy’s smile vanished; she squinted at him, looking genuinely worried. “You okay?” she said. “You _never_ ask about my life.”

This didn’t really make Giles feel any better about the choices he had been making. “Then I need to get better at that,” he said with a half-apologetic smile. “I truly would like to hear more about what you do outside of your sacred calling.”

Buffy blinked, then smiled again, more shy than buoyant. “Okay,” she said. “Well, do you wanna hear about my algebra test? I’m pretty sure I at _least_ passed this one—”

Giles fell into step with Buffy, deciding very firmly to put the mess that was his marriage out of his mind until he reached home. Coming into the situation with a clear head might make his admission easier on both Jenny and himself—though, really, the _most_ important part was that this was easy on Jenny.

* * *

 

Giles reached their small, cozy house, pulled up to the driveway, and saw his wife lying dead on the porch. No—no, it was just a shadow, wasn’t it? That couldn’t possibly be—he had had dreams like this, where he pulled the car up and Jenny was lying dead on the porch and she had died because he had waited too long to tell her the truth, and dreams didn’t come true _this_ exactly, not with Jenny’s head tilted _just_ so and her eyes wide and staring and oh God, it was _her—_

He slammed on the brakes, unbuckling his seatbelt and diving out of the car without bothering to take the key out of the ignition. He half-stumbled up the porch stairs, collapsing next to her body and then pulling her into his arms—was she still breathing? She might still be breathing, there might still be time—she was so _cold—_

“Rupert.”

Giles felt a shimmer of _something_ as he turned to look at Jenny. Alive. And looking _extremely_ angry, for a reason he couldn’t possibly fathom. “Oh,” he said, almost sobbing with relief. This was something magical, then. Whatever was going on, he couldn’t trust his senses, which meant that Jenny was nowhere near dead. He looked back down into his arms, and found that he was holding empty air. “Oh—I thought—”

“What the fuck,” said Jenny, and threw two of the Watcher diaries at him. One book hit Giles’s shoulder; the other very nearly hit him squarely in the face. “What the _fuck—_ ” She was shaking, tears in her eyes; she threw another Watcher’s diary at him, then held up the fifth draft of his speech. “ _Jenny, I love you,”_ she read. “ _Never doubt that I love you. Please understand that I kept this from you only out of concern for your safety_ —you _bastard!”_

Giles was having quite a lot of trouble processing what was going on at this juncture, especially since ten seconds ago, he had been quite solidly convinced that Jenny was dead. His shoulder stung, his speeches were scattered on the pavement, and Jenny looked like she was quite ready to hit him. “I’m sorry,” he said weakly. “I feel I am missing a quite integral piece of the puzzle—”

“Oh, no, that is _my_ line right now,” Jenny retorted. “Because I fell in love with a sweet, gentle, _honest_ guy who took all my secrets in stride, and I thought, _god,_ how the fuck did I get so lucky, meeting someone who was willing to put up with me? And now I find out that you’ve been keeping this from me _this whole time—_ and you know what, okay, I can get why you did it at first, but _Rupert—_ ” She pressed her fingers to her mouth, dropping the rest of the diaries on the pavement. Drawing in a shuddering breath, she said, “I _trusted_ you. I wanted to stay _married_ to you.”

Giles couldn’t breathe.

“I don’t trust just anybody,” said Jenny. No longer was there that vindictive fire in her eyes; she looked very small, and very tired. “I guess I don’t trust _anybody,_ now.”

“Jenny,” said Giles weakly. “Jenny, if—if you read my writings, you, you _must_ know that I intended to tell you—”

“Don’t,” said Jenny.

“Jenny, please—”

“I don’t know you,” said Jenny. “I don’t know a single fucking thing about you, if you’re the kind of man like the people in these diaries. How can you expect me to forgive you for this?” She turned, hurrying towards the still-running car, and got in, slamming the door shut and peeling out of the driveway at a terrifying speed.

Giles sat on the porch steps, feeling quite like he had been punched in the stomach. He felt as though he should go after her, plead his case—but her reaction had been exactly as terrible and as definitive as it had been in his imagined worst-case scenarios. It almost felt too terrible to be true.

And then he remembered Jenny, dead on the porch, cold and solid in his arms. Perhaps, he thought, it wasn’t.

* * *

 

Jenny wasn’t at home when Giles woke up the next day. It took him a moment to realize why the bed felt quite so large and empty, and another moment to realize that he had grown accustomed to waking up with her sprawled half on top of him, head pillowed on his chest, arm draped possessively across his stomach. Her absence brought back the memories of the previous night in full relief, and he swallowed, hard.

He would fix this. He had to fix this. Stranger things had happened in Sunnydale, hadn’t they? Stranger by far than his wife dead and leaving him on the same night. If his worst fears were coming true, then that meant that something was _making_ them come true, which meant that none of this was really Jenny at all. And that meant that Giles would be able to look her in the eye and tell her _Jenny, I love you, and I am sorry that I kept this from you._ She wouldn’t find out from—

Giles stopped, sitting up in bed. He had left the library with Buffy that night, determined to put thoughts of the diaries out of his head. He had left the library, and he had left his office door ajar, diaries and speeches strewn across his office, visible to anyone who might come looking for him.

* * *

 

Jenny’s body had disappeared, Giles reminded himself all the way to school. Jenny’s body had disappeared, so it stood to reason that anything else that might have been a magical trick would have righted itself as well. If his office remained exactly the way he had left it, then that would prove the theory that his worst nightmares really _were_ coming true, and it would put to bed _any_ possibility of last night’s confrontation being real.

The look in his wife’s eyes—

Giles sprinted through the halls, ignoring Principal Snyder’s shout of _“Mr._ Giles, a _little_ professionalism—” and nearly bowling over Cordelia Chase. He threw open the library doors, barely noticing the children gathered around the table, and rounded the checkout desk to find the door of his office still ajar.

“Giles—” he heard Buffy say from behind him. Her voice was small and shaky.

Giles’s office was a mess. The box of Watcher diaries had been upended and hastily sorted through, half of them open on the floor. One of his speeches—the half-crumpled first draft, which had been the most blunt and tactless in its phrasing—was sitting atop his desk, blotted with tears to the point that his handwriting was nearly illegible. Tossed to the floor was Jenny’s leather jacket.

And the moment felt so foolishly mundane. Nothing magical had slipped Giles up; no nightmare spell had brought his worst fear to life. His own distracted carelessness had revealed the truth to Jenny in the most callous way possible. She had discovered his secret from secondary sources, men who Giles found himself feeling less and less connected to. She saw him as not the man he was, but the man he was desperately afraid of becoming.

The nightmares, Giles thought, had been kinder.

“Giles,” said Buffy again, stepping up to place a tentative hand on his elbow. Giles turned, unable to think of anything he could possibly say.

“Ms. Calendar was here when we came in,” said Xander from the table, looking up at Giles with an unreadable expression. “She said—” He coughed, nervously, then said, “ _Did_ you guys get married in Vegas?”

And again, Giles found himself feeling as though he had been knocked sprawling. “I’m sorry?” he managed.

Buffy swallowed, tears in her eyes. Giles was reminded of their conversation in the halls regarding him and Jenny— _she makes you super happy,_ Buffy had said shyly,  _and that’s really, really awesome—_ and realized that there had been another reason he had never wanted Buffy to find out what his marriage really was. “She said _I guess this is what happens when you drunk-marry a guy in Vegas the day you meet him,”_ Buffy said unsteadily. “I-I don’t think she knew we had come in.”

“Yes,” said Giles, “well,” and gripped the checkout desk to keep his knees from giving way. His eyes were blurry with tears, and he would _not_ cry in front of his charges. “I-I’m sorry, Buffy,” he said. “I don’t think I will be able to assist you in this particular paranormal venture.”

“Giles—” Buffy’s voice broke.

“Please excuse me,” said Giles, and took two unsteady steps into his office, shutting and locking the door behind him.

Outside, he heard Buffy begin to cry, and Willow and Xander’s murmurs of panicked comfort in response. He wished he was strong enough to go out and face them, but he _couldn’t._ Not when his Slayer knew he was an inebriated failure, and his wife knew he had lied to her for the entire duration of their marriage, and none of them knew how very _much_ he had wanted to do good in the world. Dazed and miserable, Giles leaned against the door, then slid down to sit on the floor.

He tugged Jenny’s jacket over to him, running a hand down the leather, cradling it against his chest with the same tender hesitancy that he had once held his wife. It smelled like her—just barely, but enough to provide him with some semblance of comfort.

* * *

 

Giles stayed in his office for nearly three hours, surrounded by the wreckage of what he had meant to be a well-made plan. He kept on thinking about small, silly things that he had taken for granted: Jenny’s smile when he made her coffee, Buffy’s bright, clear laugh when she got a good punch in during training, Willow’s gentle, reproving words when she had found out the entire mess quite by accident. Really, if he had listened to Willow from the get-go, none of this would have happened quite so horribly, or hurt Jenny quite so much. He should have listened to Willow from the get-go.

There was a knock on his office door. Giles didn’t answer. Whoever it was, there was no way he could face—

“Rupert?” Jenny’s voice was tremulous. “Rupert, I—”

Without even making the conscious decision to do it, Giles stood, unlocking and opening the door with shaking hands.

Jenny was standing in the doorway, blouse torn, a bloody vampire bite standing out in stark relief on her neck. She swayed, but gripped the doorframe, steadying herself. Giles reached for her; she flinched away. “No,” she said. “We’re not—that’s not us anymore.”

Heart breaking, Giles let his hands drop. “What do you need?” he said in a low, shaking voice.

Leaning against the doorframe, Jenny wrung her hands almost compulsively, looking down at the floor as though she couldn’t quite bear to look at him. “Angelus attacked me,” she said. “He got a good bite in before I managed to dust him.”

“Angelus?” Giles repeated, bemused. “But it’s daylight, and—”

“Angel has his soul,” Jenny finished. “Yeah.” One of her hands fluttered to touch her neck, then jerked away.

“Jenny, are you all right?” Giles asked. The look she gave him in return made him regret ever speaking. “I just meant—”

“You don’t get to ask me if I’m all right,” said Jenny. “Okay? You just _don’t._ ” She wiped her bloody hands on her skirt, then crossed her arms, staring down at the floor. “There’s obviously something supernatural going on here,” she informed her shoes, “and seeing as that is apparently your area of fucking _expertise,_ I think you should be working on researching how to fix it.”

“Before that, I think you should seek medical attention,” Giles persisted. “You look as though you’re about to keel over—”

“Rupert, I don’t like being taken care of even when I _do_ trust people,” said Jenny shortly, “and right now I do _not_ trust you. Okay?”

“You can’t expect me to be able to focus on researching when I know you’re in this state—”

“ _You did this,_ ” snapped Jenny. “You _created_ this mess. If you’re gonna lie to your wife for _months_ about who you are, then you have to just _let her be upset!”_

“There’s a stark contrast between _letting you be upset_ and _letting you bleed out in the library!”_ Giles retorted, frustration and worry overtaking his shame. “I don’t at _all_ dispute your right to be mad at me, Jenny, and—” He swallowed, hard. “I won’t try and change your mind,” he said. “I can agree wholeheartedly that I am not the man you knew. But please, _please_ let me patch you up before we continue any research. It’s all I ask.”

Jenny looked up at him, shaking. Then she said, “After this, I’m done, okay? I’m just—we’re done.”

“Of course,” said Giles quietly.

His ready acceptance seemed to take Jenny aback. “You’re not going to fight me on this?” she said, her voice wobbling.

Giles raised his eyes to hers. “I broke your trust, and I know you well enough to know that your trust is doled out sparingly,” he said. “Whatever you want at this juncture—whatever I can do to make things even slightly better for you—is what I will give you.”

Jenny nodded, and nodded again, gripping her elbows and returning her gaze to the floor. “Okay,” she said. “You can fix up my neck.”

As Giles stepped forward, the library doors burst open, Willow and Xander tumbling through. “Giles?” Willow called, then stopped, throwing her arm out in front of Xander. Both of them stared, wide-eyed, at Giles and Jenny.

It was a mark of how terribly shaken Jenny was that she couldn’t even muster up a smile for the children. She nodded in their direction, then looked up at Giles. “You can fix up my neck,” she said again. “Go get the first-aid kit from your office.” With that, she crossed the library to sit down at the table, leaning back in the chair to stare up at the ceiling.

“Giles?” said Willow, her voice trembling.

“Jenny has been made aware of my status as a Watcher,” said Giles simply.

 _That_ got Jenny’s attention. “They _knew?”_ she said very loudly, standing up fast enough to knock the chair over. “They _knew,_ and I didn’t?”

“They were in the line of fire—” Giles began, terrified that this new development would dissuade Jenny from receiving medical attention.

“Oh, and I’m not?” shouted Jenny, gesturing to the still-bleeding bite on her neck. Willow let out a strangled sob. Xander looked sick. Jenny didn’t seem to register either reaction. “So you’d rather tell your  _students_ about your double life than your _wife?”_

“Don’t throw that word around like it means something to you,” retorted Giles before he could stop himself.

Jenny reeled back, stumbling into the table. The look of utter hurt on her face lasted only a moment, and then she was rounding on him with a new ferocity in her eyes. “Oh, that’s a laugh,” she said. “That’s _really_ funny, Rupert, you talking to me like _I’m_ the one who has reason to be doubted here. I’ve been above-board, I’ve been honest, I’ve told you how much I  _love_ you—”

_“STOP IT!”_

Giles and Jenny turned, for the first time fully realizing the presence of all three children. Xander was now leaning heavily against the checkout desk, Buffy was staring at both of them with furious, blazing eyes, and Willow—

Willow was crying, very hard, into Buffy’s shoulder.

“Oh,” said Jenny. Her voice broke. “Oh no.”

“Yeah, _”_ said Buffy, somewhat hoarsely; she had had to shout quite loudly to be heard over Giles and Jenny’s argument. “Yeah. See what you guys are doing?”

“Don’t blame Jenny for this, Buffy,” said Giles immediately. “She has every right to be angry with me.”

“I don’t care whose fault it is or isn’t,” said Buffy flatly. “You’re supposed to be the _adults_ here.”

To Giles’s surprise, something in Jenny’s face shifted. “Okay,” she said.

“What?” said Giles.

“Rupert, they’re right,” said Jenny matter-of-factly. “We can’t do this right now. There’s actual supernatural stuff we have to focus on.”

Giles felt oddly hurt. Jenny had shifted so easily from furious to businesslike; he didn’t know if he could make that effortless transition himself. “Of course,” he said, because what else _could_ he say? “We have work to do.”

“I’ll take care of Ms. Calendar’s neck,” said Xander, straightening up. “Buffy, you should probably tell Giles about Laura and what you found out in the hospital.”

“Laura?” Giles repeated distantly.

“Laura’s in my English class,” Buffy explained unsteadily, gently removing herself from a still-sniffling Willow’s grip. “She got beat up pretty bad, and she’s not the only one.”

* * *

 

As it turned out, one of Giles’s more inane nightmares appeared to have come true—meaning that he found himself utterly unable to contribute to research of any kind. Willow took it upon herself to tremulously read him headlines, while Jenny turned to the Net for answers. Buffy’s information regarding Billy Palmer did help to _some_ degree, but nothing was definitively discovered until Xander came running in from his fifth period class in mismatched gym clothing.

“Interesting look, Xander,” said Jenny, cracking a small, reluctant smile.

“Oh, _ha_ ha,” said Xander, glaring at her. “Laugh it up all you want— _you_ didn’t have your worst nightmare come true. I’m pretty sure Cordelia will have told the _whole_ school—”

Jenny’s smile vanished, a strange expression crossing her face. “Wait,” she said. “Say that again.”

“What, that Cordelia probably blabbed about my little incident to _everyone?”_

“No,” said Giles slowly, seeing where Jenny was going. “Nightmares.” He turned to Jenny. “Jenny, you were attacked by Angelus. Xander, you—”

“I was in front of the class wearing only my underwear,” said Xander resentfully.

“Exactly!” said Giles, delighted by the realization. “And I found Jenny’s dead body on my porch last night, but it disappeared when—” He stopped, wincing a bit. “Well. The point is, I’ve had nightmares in that vein—”

“About me dying?” said Jenny a little shakily, sounding somewhat floored.

Giles turned to look at her, opening his mouth. Before he could say anything, however, Willow cut in very firmly, “You guys are on probation, remember? No more feelings talk until the nightmare stuff gets resolved.”

“Right,” said Giles, doing his best to look away from the no-longer-angry expression on Jenny’s face. “Nightmares.” Awkwardly, he cleared his throat, then added, “It seems reasonable to assume that Billy Palmer may have somehow crossed over from the nightmare world he’s trapped in.”

“And he brought the nightmares with him?” said Xander indignantly. “Well, thanks a lot, Billy.”

“Buffy needs to know,” said Willow suddenly. “She’s off with her dad, right?”

The concept of Sunnydale being exposed to a Vampire Slayer’s nightmares did _not_ appeal to Giles in the slightest. “You’re quite right, Willow,” he said. “We need to track her down before something drastic happens.”

* * *

 

Quite a lot of drastic things happened. It was, after all, rather expected when one was wandering around in a compilation of nightmares. By the time Giles finally reunited with Willow, Xander, and Jenny, none of them had found Buffy, _and_ they were being chased by what appeared to be a clown wielding a knife. Giles was beginning to long for the safety of two hours before—yes, his soon-to-be-ex-wife was livid with him, but at least he wasn’t about to die in the most undignified way possible.

To his surprise, at the end of the hall, Xander stopped, then stalked up to the clown, punching it directly in the face. It fell. “You are a _lousy_ clown!” he shouted. “Your balloon animals are pathetic! Anyone can make a giraffe!” With that, he turned away, hurrying to catch up with them as Giles led the group outside.

“Ooh boy,” said Jenny, reeling.

Giles blinked. “Are you all right?”

“Um—no?” said Jenny. Her voice shook. “The sun, it’s, it’s—”

Abruptly, and horribly, Giles understood. “Xander, Willow, go find Buffy,” he said sharply.

“But Giles—” Willow began.

“ _Go,_ ” said Giles, gripping Jenny’s hands. As the children hurried in the direction of what looked to be a graveyard, he said shakily, “You said you were raised on—on stories of Angelus.”

“I had dreams when I was little,” said Jenny, her nails digging into his hands. “I dreamed that—that he bit me, a-and then I’d be a vampire too—”

“This would have been extremely pertinent information to have half an hour ago,” said Giles. Any sensible Watcher would run, at this moment. “Are you quite sure that this isn’t _my_ nightmare?’

Jenny shook her head. “No,” she said. “No. This feels like mine.” She sniffled. “I always dreamed that I managed to get away before he killed me,” she said. “And then the change would come on out of _nowhere_ —” She seemed just as unable to leave him as he did to run from her. “Rupert, you, you have to go,” she said.

“Jenny—”

“ _Fix_ this,” said Jenny. “Okay?”

Giles tugged his hands from hers. He would have done anything to erase that terrible, terrified look in her eyes. “I love you,” he said roughly, and before she could say anything in response, he was sprinting after Willow and Xander, towards the graveyard.

The school was gone as soon as he stepped through the portal. That was the way dreams worked, Giles supposed—and more and more, the real world was functioning with the same impossible logic as dreams. “Willow?” he called. “Xander?”

They turned. “Where’s Ms. Calendar?” Willow asked, voice wobbling.

“I-I don’t know,” said Giles. “I think we may need to conduct the rest of this on our own. As soon as we find Buffy—” And then he stopped, realizing what, exactly, Willow and Xander had been looking at.

 _Buffy Summers,_ read the tombstone. _1981 – 1997._

“My nightmare again, then,” said Giles, quiet and heavy. He knelt down in front of the tombstone, dazed by how bloody impossible it felt to fix all this. How quickly it had all fallen to bits—and how strangely little it had taken. “I’ve failed,” he said, thinking of Buffy’s sweet, bright smile. “In my duty to protect you.” He swallowed, hard. “I’d say I should have been more cautious,” he said, “but I fear my caution has been all of our undoing. Had I been half as brave as you—” He dropped his head, swallowing. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

As he began to get up, a hand grabbed at his wrist. Willow screamed. Giles wrenched himself away, staggering back and watching, stunned, as Buffy pulled herself up and out of the dirt. “I thought I was dead!” she wheezed, raising her head to look at them.

A vampire, Giles realized. Only—she had retained her soul.

“Buffy, your face!” Willow gasped.

Buffy blinked, reaching up to touch her face—and immediately hid behind her hands. “Oh—god,” she whispered. “Oh— _don’t_ look at me!”

“You never told me you dreamt of becoming a vampire,” said Giles slowly.

“This isn’t a dream,” said Buffy unsteadily.

“No,” Giles agreed. “It isn’t.” His thoughts returned to Jenny, looking small and shaken in the shadows. “But there is a chance we can stop it from continuing.” He stepped forward, placing a hand on Buffy’s shoulder; he wasn’t the only one who was having a difficult day. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you, right now,” he said quietly. “If I could, I would take this responsibility on myself. But I need you to hold together long enough to wake Billy up and end this. Can you do that?”

Buffy raised her head. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I-I can try.”

“Trying is _more_ than enough,” said Giles, and squeezed her shoulder.

* * *

 

Buffy woke Billy up. Giles was, overall, unsurprised; after all, Buffy had a flawless track record for stopping these sorts of things thus far. As they left the hospital, he was about to tell her as such when she said, “So we kinda need to talk about that whole married-in-Vegas thing.”

Giles nodded. After his nightmares had quite literally come to life, his previous worries about professionalism didn’t seem quite as daunting—if anything, they felt rather ridiculous. “We met on a layover,” he said, smiling a little at the memory. “In a bar. She was throwing her drink in some fellow’s face, and I happened to be at the next seat over, so that was our beginning topic of conversation.”

“Romantic,” said Willow, grinning a little in a way that made it clear she was only half joking.

“Quite,” Giles agreed. His own smile faded. “I’m afraid my memories of the marriage itself are—hazy. We woke up together the next morning,” he very pointedly ignored Xander’s low whistle, “and decided to stay married in the hopes of not _immediately_ losing our jobs for such an impulsive, ill-conceived action.”

“So you didn’t tell us ‘cause you wanted to set a good example,” Buffy surmised thoughtfully. “And getting drunk-married in Vegas is, like, the opposite of a good example, right?”

“I don’t know, man,” said Xander. “This kinda makes me respect you even more.”

Willow gave Xander a disapproving look.

Buffy stared. “Wait,” she said. “So you guys were fake-married all this time?”

Giles nodded.

“And all the kissing and the gooey eyes and the making out in morgue drawers—”

 _“What?”_ said Xander. Giles groaned.

“I’ll explain later,” said Buffy, patting Xander’s shoulder. “My _point_ is…” She trailed off, frowning a little. “Was all the kissing and hand-holding and gooey love talk just for appearances?” she said. “Because believe me, I could have definitely done without the morgue drawer thing.”

Giles smiled a little ruefully. “I think both of us could have done without the, ah, _morgue drawer thing,_ ” he agreed.

“You didn’t answer my question,” said Buffy carefully. “Which I’m starting to think is kinda an answer itself.”

“None of it was just for appearances,” said Giles quietly, and realized the truth in the statement the moment after he said it. Jenny had never _needed_ to protect him, or kiss him, or tuck her arm in his; no one would be paying rapt attention to the actions of a married couple on-staff. Both of them, he thought, had been looking for some kind of a connection, and within the layers of artifice they had quite accidentally forged something very real.

Buffy winced a little. Slowly, she said, “And Ms. Calendar’s mad ‘cause she found out you’re a Watcher.”

“Yes,” said Giles.

“And now she thinks that means you’ve just been making _everything_ up.”

“Yes,” said Giles again, heavily.

“And you guys haven’t known each other long enough for her to know that you’re crazy about her.”

“Ye—” Giles stopped, blushing furiously. “No! I didn’t—that is—”

Buffy giggled, bumping her shoulder against Giles’s; Willow followed suit. “Giles has a _cru-ush,_ ” Xander singsonged.

“On my _wife,”_ said Giles, mortified. Now he was remembering, with _full_ clarity, exactly why he had been so reticent to tell the children the truth about his marriage. “May we please change the subject?”

“No way,” said Buffy, tucking her arm into Giles’s. “This is the best day of my life. This totally makes up for the morgue drawer stuff.”

“Oh, lord,” said Giles, but he found himself smiling just a bit.

* * *

 

Jenny was at home when Giles finally arrived, sitting on the sofa and drinking wine from one of his teacups. Upon seeing him, she set the cup down, looking almost expectantly up at him.

“Are you all right?” Giles asked quietly.

“I mean, I was a vampire for only a minute or two before the world fixed itself again,” said Jenny, trying to smile. “It wasn’t the _greatest,_ but at least I didn’t kill anyone—”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” said Giles.

Jenny exhaled. “Sit down,” she said. When Giles had obliged, she studied him for a long moment, then said, “I-I don’t know how to even begin this conversation, Rupert, I really don’t. I mean, I meant what I said—I understand why you kept this from me for those first few months. We were at each other’s throats all the time back then. But…” She trailed off, looking down at her hands, then miserably back up at Giles. “I told you my big secret,” she said. “Granted, I kinda had to, but after that I started thinking _I’ve never told anyone something like that before._ And then I started thinking about how safe you made me feel, and how easy it felt to be honest with you, and that’s why I told you I loved you.”

Giles noted the use of the past tense, and did his best not to show how much it stung. “Is there any way I can make this up to you?” he asked.

“I honestly have no idea,” said Jenny. “Right now it’s hard enough to just be around you.” Her hands moved forward, almost of their own volition, as if to grip Giles’s again, but she hastily turned the movement into adjusting the hem of her sweater. She hesitated. “I think I need some space,” she said. “If that’s okay.”

“Of course,” said Giles. “I can, I can collect my things and—” He stopped at the look on Jenny’s face. “What?”

“I was going to say that I think _I_ need to leave,” said Jenny. “Not you. I—I can’t be in our house right now.”

“But it has your computer here,” said Giles weakly.

Jenny made a soft sound that was almost a laugh. “You can finally re-box it up,” she joked, trying to smile. When Giles’s expression didn’t change, she sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just…I can’t be around you or your stuff until I’ve sorted myself out. I need to figure out if I can handle getting to know you all over again.”

 _Nothing has changed,_ Giles wanted to tell her. _I never lied about the important parts of me._ But he didn’t feel as though pleading his case was the honorable thing to do in this situation. “I love you,” he said softly. “So much. Take as much time as you need. I’ll be here no matter what you decide.”

Jenny gave him a soft, wobbly smile. “Okay,” she said. With everything out in the open, however, the way she was looking at him no longer felt as blissfully real as it had when…when he was simply Jenny Calendar’s husband, a clumsy librarian who needed protecting from the supernatural. Giles would have given the world to truly be the man she had fallen in love with. “I’ll see you around, probably. Have the kids let me know if there’s…I don’t know. Nightmares coming to life. Demons I should be looking out for.”

“Of course,” said Giles again.

It felt, in the strangest way, inevitable. He didn’t think he should feel so miserably hurt; he had always knew she would leave when the truth came out. But sometimes, when she had been patching up his face, or when she had kissed him, or when she had laughed at one of his oblique little literary references…he had dared to hope that perhaps they could have had something real.


	13. interlude: the engagement ring

It was two days after Jenny had left that Giles found the ring box in his dresser. His gran had sent it over with a warmly irritated note—a mixture of _congratulations_ and  _why on earth didn’t you introduce her to the family first—_ and he had received it back when he and Jenny were still shouting at each other about stupidly trivial things. He had been infuriated by yet another reminder of what he had seen as his biggest mistake, and he had shoved the ring box into the top drawer of his dresser, and he had forgotten that it was there.

Giles opened the ring box and studied the ring. It had been his great-grandmother’s, and then his gran’s, and then his dad had used it to propose to his mum, and now—by all accounts, this ring was meant for the woman Giles wanted in his life, for the rest of his life. But “the rest of his life” was such a nebulous, strange concept for him to attempt to wrap his head around; he was all but guaranteed to die within the next decade, now. Watchers rarely outlived their Slayers, and Slayers rarely lived very long at all.

God, Giles missed the blissful oblivion of the last two months. Jenny’s presence had dulled and numbed reality in a way that had made him so _happy._ He had been a librarian, an educator, a husband…he had had a life outside his books and his calling. And now…what was he, now? She had so thoroughly upended his life. It was impossible to return back to the cold, rigid mindset he’d taken such pride in before Sunnydale.

He replaced the ring back in its box, studying it with a quiet sadness. He couldn’t bring himself to tuck it back into his dresser and forget it again, but there was no place he could put it without having to _look_ at it every day. After a few minutes of consideration, he finally tucked it into the pocket of his best tweed jacket, telling himself quite firmly that he would know when it was needed again.

* * *

The next week passed by in a strange haze. There was research to do, a girl to find, a mystery to solve—but wasn’t there always? All that tethered Giles to reality was the children, and their steadfast conviction to do good in the world. He wished he could be as selflessly unselfish as them, but all he seemed able to think about was Jenny, and her smile, and how _happy_ they had been together. Both of them had been so lonely, for so long; a moment’s reprieve from that loneliness had been indescribably wonderful.

And now here he was, again, back where he started. He remembered being so happy in his isolation and indifference. Some terrible part of him wished he could return to that ignorance.

* * *

 

He might have gone on like that for much longer than just a week, if not for the Pergamum Codex.


	14. all the time in the world

The moment Giles realized what the Codex said, he felt as though some final, vital part of him had shattered. Losing Jenny had always been an inevitability, but losing _Buffy—_ he couldn’t contemplate it. This bright, brilliant child who stared death in the eye and _laughed_ on a daily basis…he could not lose her too. Not so soon after he had broken Jenny’s heart.

He would check his translations, he decided, even as the earth shook and broke under his feet. He would check and double-check and triple-check and _demand_ answers from Angel, and he would not tell Buffy about any of this until he had found a foolproof way to keep it from happening.

 _Everything in the Codex comes to pass,_ said a thoroughly unhelpful voice in the back of his head. Giles leaned against the checkout desk and stared at the semi-wrecked library, dazed by how rapidly it all seemed to have fallen to bits.

* * *

 

Giles threw himself into research. Buffy came in, the next morning, and he could barely register her presence through the haze of cross-referencing and recataloguing and attempting to repair the damage done by the earthquake on top of everything else. He was on autopilot, thinking only in terms of conjugations and typos and misprints—maybe the Codex meant _fall,_ not _die?_ Fall was more general, certainly, and could mean anything from death to the loss of Giles’s good opinion—but no, no, it translated to _she will die—_ had he calculated the date incorrectly?

“Rupert,” said a voice. “ _Rupert.”_

“Quite busy,” said Giles, not looking up from his books. “Library’s closed. Come again later.”

“I’m playing the wife card,” said Jenny firmly.

 _That_ made Giles look up. “Please don’t,” he finally managed.

Jenny flushed, ducking her head. “Okay,” she said. “Yeah. I guess if you’re living in a hotel, you don’t really get to play the wife card anymore, huh?”

“No, Jenny, I just—” Giles exhaled, frustrated. Why on earth couldn’t she have done this _before_ Buffy’s impending death? “I am under a lot of stress,” he said. “I don’t think now is the time for you to—to reenter my life.”

“So I’m a stressor?” Jenny looked a mixture of indignant and hurt.

“You are someone I love who I hurt very deeply,” said Giles, “and I am _terrified_ I will hurt you again. Please, Jenny, I-I am in _no_ condition to even attempt at tactfulness—I am tired, and I have quite a lot of work to do—”

“I know,” said Jenny. “I thought that maybe I could help.”

This took Giles aback. “I’m sorry?”

“Buffy checked in with me today, and she said you seemed pretty seriously out of sorts,” said Jenny tentatively. “And I knew it had to be pretty bad if Buffy was concerned enough to check in with me about it, and—and the only things I could think of that might upset you enough to keep them secret all had to do with death and destruction and—”

“Buffy is fated to face the Master,” said Giles.

Jenny blinked. “The who now?”

“The Master,” said Giles unsteadily. “He is a very powerful vampire who trapped himself underground a very long time ago, and he has taken a particular interest in Buffy since her coming here. I discovered a prophecy yesterday that suggested—” He swallowed, then shook his head. “That _explicitly_ stated Buffy would face the Master, and that she would die tomorrow night.”

Jenny studied him for a long moment. Softly, she said, “I’ve never once seen you so undone.”

“How can I not be?” said Giles helplessly. “She’s my—” He didn’t quite know _how_ to describe what he felt for Buffy. _Slayer_ seemed too clinical a term, suddenly; he would have been able to send his Slayer to die without hesitation. “I care very deeply for her,” he said. “And she is only a child. Sending her to die at the hands of a master vampire is, is something I could never do.”

“Your predecessors didn’t seem to have much of a problem with it,” said Jenny a little coolly.

It was then that Giles realized that Jenny had almost certainly read the same Watcher diaries as he had. Not only had she found out of his calling from a secondary source, she had received her only information about it from callously indifferent, utterly detached idiots, all of whom had prioritized their mission over love, family, and the life of the girl they had been charged with protecting. “I am not my predecessors,” he said. “I have no intention of letting a little girl die for the sake of the world, not if I have  _any_ way of stopping it.”

Jenny nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. Then let me help you.”

“Are you sure?” said Giles uncertainly. “You said you wanted distance—”

“Yeah, well, I think I can put that aside until we figure out how to stop this prophecy from going down,” said Jenny, giving him a small, tired smile.

Not for the first time, Giles was struck by how very remarkable Jenny was. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Jenny hesitated, then reached out, awkwardly squeezing Giles’s shoulder. Giles, who hadn’t been touched since the nightmare incident, couldn’t suppress a startled gasp, but she didn’t seem to notice. “You weren’t lying about…everything, were you?” she said. “Not about—not about hating computers, or, or liking tea, or—”

“Loving you?”

“Yeah,” said Jenny.

“I lied about being a Watcher, Jenny, but that is the _only_ thing I lied about,” said Giles quietly.

For a brief moment, it seemed as though Jenny might kiss him; her eyes flitted down to his mouth, and she leaned in very slightly. But she seemed to think better of it, letting her hand drop and stepping back, and Giles found himself longing for the days when she would grab him and kiss him just to make a point or make him squirm. “Let’s, uh, get back to the Buffy thing,” she said somewhat loudly. “Where did you get the prophecy from?”

“Angel, actually,” said Giles.

Jenny looked startled. “Seriously?”

“Yes, he, he was very helpful,” said Giles awkwardly, raising his hand to straighten his glasses. “He did save my life last week.” Jenny drew in a sharp, pained breath, and he blinked. “Are you quite all right?”

“Your _hand,_ ” said Jenny.

Giles raised the hand in question, remembering belatedly that he had sustained a rather bad burn from his attempts to shut off the gas valve. But there hadn’t been time to doctor it properly—there never did seem to be time for that sort of thing. “Oh,” he said, and grinned a bit sheepishly. “Quite a lot better than it looks, actually. I can hold a pencil—”

Jenny looked as though she was about to cry. “Okay,” she said. “Yeah. Um, we should—we should really start in on the research. Can you maybe call in Angel and see if he can help us out?”

“Certainly,” Giles agreed, both bemused and concerned by Jenny’s reaction. The burn certainly would be healing _better_ if he’d paid proper attention to it, but there truly wasn’t time to do such a thing when one was focused solely on the care and keeping of one’s Slayer. “If you could double-check my translations?”

“Sure,” said Jenny. “Sure,” and picked up the Codex, hurrying it out of Giles’s office. Giles watched her go, feeling a rather confusing blend of emotions, and then turned back to the phone. Angel wouldn’t be able to go outside till sunset, but calling him at least gave Giles something to do.

* * *

 

Angel arrived only a few minutes after sunset. Upon seeing him, Jenny stiffened, but her eyes were wide with an almost childlike curiosity. “Angelus,” she said.

Angel turned, studying her thoughtfully. “Ms. Calendar,” he said. “Buffy mentioned you, once or twice. You’re Giles’s wife?”

Jenny hesitated. Then she said, “My family’s kind of the reason you have your soul.”

It was a mark of how surprising the news was: Angel looked visibly taken aback. “What?”

“I, um, moved to Sunnydale to watch you,” Jenny hedged. “Technically. I feel like I should tell you because literally everyone else knows at this point and it feels weird for you _not_ to? My family really wants to make sure you’re perpetually suffering. It’s kind of their thing.”

“Is that your thing too?” Angel asked carefully.

Jenny seemed to seriously consider the question. “I feel like I don’t know you well enough to make that assessment,” she said.

This seemed to satisfy Angel. “Okay,” he said. “Well. Nice to meet you. Giles, is this why you called me down?”

“Actually, um,” Giles picked up the Codex, now triple-checked by both him _and_ Jenny, “there is something else about which we needed to inform you.”

Angel directed a slightly wary look at the Codex. Smart fellow. “Okay,” he said again.

Jenny stepped forward, placing a quiet hand on Giles’s elbow. “Um, Rupert and I have gone over the Codex…quite a few times,” she said. “And we—should I tell him?”

“I think that would be best,” Giles agreed. He wasn’t sure if he had the emotional energy to break the news to another person.

Gripping Giles’s elbow as if trying to support herself, Jenny continued. “We went over the Codex,” she said, “a-and we came across a prophecy regarding, regarding Buffy. And the Master.”

Angel stared blankly at him. Slowly, he said, “You’re not trying to tell me—”

“The Master will rise,” said Giles unsteadily, “and tomorrow night, the Slayer will die by his hand.”

Angel’s expression didn’t change. “Check it again,” he said. “It’s got to be wrong.”

“We’ve spent the last five hours checking it against all of Rupert’s prophetic volumes,” said Jenny quietly. “If we’re wrong, then so is this entire library.”

“There’s got to be some way around it—”

“Some prophecies,” said Giles, “are mutable. Buffy herself has thwarted more than a few of them. But there is nothing in the Codex that does not come to pass.”

“Then you’ve been _reading_ it wrong,” said Angel fiercely.

“I _wish_ to god we were!” Giles shouted, completely and finally losing his temper. “But there is _no_ other way to interpret it! Tomorrow night, Buffy will face the Master, and she will die!”

“Have you—” Angel began, but the rest of his words were cut off by quiet, unsteady laughter.

Giles looked, horrified, over Angel’s shoulder. He knew that laugh, though he had never heard it in quite that cadence, and his stomach dropped when he saw Buffy standing in the library doorway. “So that’s it, huh?” she said. “I remember the drill. One Slayer dies, the next one gets called. Wonder who she is.” She turned to Giles, eyes almost too bright. “Will you train her, or will they send someone else.”

“Buffy,” said Jenny softly.

“They say how he’s gonna kill me?” Buffy’s voice broke. “Do you think it’ll hurt?” Angel moved forward to hold her, but she jerked back before he could reach her. “Don’t touch me!” she shouted at him, then turned accusing eyes on Giles and Jenny. “Were you guys even going to tell me?” she asked.

“We were looking for a way to stop it,” said Jenny.

“Here’s how,” said Buffy, shaking. “I quit.”

“It’s not that simple,” said Angel.

“No, I think it should be,” said Giles.

Buffy, Jenny, and Angel all turned to stare at him. “Rupert,” said Jenny, a warning note in her voice. “Remember all those prophecies we checked? Buffy’s supposed to be the only one—”

“I think I’ve had rather enough of this,” said Giles, not really to anyone in particular. “I think I am thoroughly bloody sick of having to live in a world where the people I care about are put deliberately in harm’s way just by virtue of cosmic chance. And I think I am entirely done sitting passively by and letting it happen.”

Buffy looked suddenly frightened, anger and misery forgotten. “Giles,” she said. “What are you—”

“Buffy, you are _not_ going to face the Master,” said Giles. “Don’t worry yourself about it. It simply is not going to happen.”

“But you said—”

“I don’t care what I said,” said Giles. “If it comes to pass, it will come to pass no matter what we do about it. The least I can do is make sure I have done everything I can to stop it from happening.”

He couldn’t quite understand why Buffy didn’t look comforted, or why Jenny had gone ashen, or why even Angel looked a little concerned. All he knew was that preparations needed to be made, battles needed to be fought, evil defeated—

With a sudden sob, Buffy raced from the room, not looking back.

Giles didn’t have time to worry himself about what Buffy thought of him. He had plans of his own to finalize. “Jenny, thank you for staying, but I believe I would like to be alone right now,” he said. “Angel, the same applies for you. If you would just—”

“Rupert,” said Jenny, a warning look in her eyes. “If you’re about to do something stupid—”

“I am going to _research,_ ” said Giles, because it was true. He needed all the information he could to go after the Master.

“Then I’m going to help,” said Jenny. “That hasn’t changed.”

“I can help too, if you want,” said Angel uncertainly.

“This is married-couple stuff,” said Jenny flatly. “Thanks, thought.”

Angel got the hint. Quietly, and without protesting, he left the library.

“Wow,” said Jenny. “Buffy really picked a good boyfriend, huh? That guy takes directions like nobody’s business—”

“If you’ll look online, Jenny, I think I shall turn to my books,” said Giles loudly. He didn’t really feel like making conversation when Buffy’s life was at stake, and _especially_ when Jenny was smart enough to figure out what he planned to do from only a few context clues.

Jenny hesitated, then nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Okay,” and hurried to the computer.

* * *

 

They spent the entire night researching, and then some. Jenny called in sick the next day, and napped in Giles’s office when Snyder came around to ask Giles, in accusatory tones, where exactly Ms. Calendar was. Giles caught up on sleep only when he began to feel dizzy, and only in short fifteen-minute naps; he was a strange mixture of anxious and driven, and couldn’t bring himself to sleep for longer.

They heard over the intercom about three students found dead in the AV room, but by this point Giles was too tired and too resigned to mysterious deaths to really take much notice of it. It did sting, however, to notice that Jenny’s reaction was similarly minimal, save for a small flinch and an indrawn breath when it was revealed that Willow had found the bodies.

Buffy came in around sundown, wearing an oversized leather jacket over a long white dress. Prom was that night, Giles realized. Somehow, she looked older and harder than he remembered; the news of the prophecy seemed to have aged her beyond her years. “Hi, guys,” she said.

“Buffy,” said Giles. “Good. Stay here with Jenny. You’re not going down to fight the Master tonight.”

“Who else is gonna?” said Buffy simply. All the vindictive fury of the night before was gone, no sign of it remaining.

“I am,” said Giles.

Buffy didn’t look at all surprised by this pronouncement. Jenny, however, did. “No, you’re _not—_ ” she began hotly, storming forward.

“You’re right,” said Buffy. “He’s not.”

“There isn’t anything you can say to talk me out of this—” Giles objected.

Lightning-fast, Buffy moved forward, landing an uppercut to Giles’s jaw. Right about then was when everything went black.

* * *

 

Giles came to with Jenny slumped against his side, a bruise blossoming on her cheek. His jaw stung. Looking around, he saw that Buffy was gone, and he felt a rush of complete and utter panic. “Jenny,” he said, shaking her. “ _Jenny—_ ”

“Rupert,” mumbled Jenny, nuzzling into his side.

“Jenny, _Buffy is gone,”_ said Giles thinly.

That woke Jenny up. “What?” She blinked, then raised a hand to her bruised cheek, wincing. “ _Shit._ She knocked you out, and then she said she was going to go down before anyone else got themselves hurt, and I said I wouldn’t let her, and then—uh.” She winced again. “That’s when it gets kinda fuzzy.”

“She’s going to get herself killed,” said Giles, already standing up. Jenny tugged, hard, at his arm, and he shook her off. “ _Don’t_ try and talk me out of this,” he began, crossing the room to grab a broadsword.

“Rupert, _you’re_ going to get yourself killed—”

“Hell of a way to go, isn’t it?”

“You’re _scaring_ me,” said Jenny. Her voice broke. “Please. We need to figure out what to do about the apocalypse before we go running off after Buffy.”

“I’ll let the children handle the research,” said Giles. “You can stay with them and supervise. I need to—” He swallowed. “I need to find Buffy.”

“And what happens if the Master takes you down?” Jenny demanded. “You’re the only other person with supernatural experience—”

“Go find Angel, then,” said Giles flatly. “I’m sure you can talk him into saving the world for Buffy’s sake.”

“Rupert—”

“Jenny,” said Giles. “This is my fault. I am going to go fix it.”

“How the _hell_ is this your fault?”

Giles stared at her for a long second. Then he said, “I don’t know, but I think I should like it to be,” and turned to hurry away.

“Okay, genius,” said Jenny, and grabbed his arm, harder this time. Giles turned, a retort at the ready, but all intelligent thought left his mind when he saw the way she was looking at him. “It’s clear to me,” she said, “that there is absolutely no talking you out of this idiot idea, because when you get an idiot idea in your head, you cling to it like it’s one of your precious volumes. But I am _not_ letting you charge down there without thinking—”

“Try and fucking stop me,” said Giles, attempting to shake her off. It didn’t work quite as well this time.

“Let me _finish,_ asshole!” snapped Jenny, cheeks red. “I am _not_ letting you charge down there without thinking, so I am _obviously_ going to have to come with you.”

Just like that, Giles’s fury was gone. “No,” he said. “Jenny, _no,_ that is out of the question—”

“It’s not up for debate,” said Jenny fiercely. “If you’re going down there, I’m going too.”

“You’ll get yourself killed—”

“What, and you won’t?”

“I can’t _lose_ you,” said Giles, his voice breaking. “It’s bad enough to know I’ve broken your trust, Jenny, I _cannot_ lead you to your death—”

“What’s going on?” said Xander uneasily.

Giles and Jenny turned. Xander and Willow were standing in the middle of the library. “We came to tell you that the faucet at my house started running blood,” said Willow, “but, um, it looks like you two are…” She squinted at Jenny’s bruised cheek, then at Giles’s jaw. “Trading punches?”

“No, that was Buffy,” said Giles without thinking, then winced. “A-and anyway, we really must be going—”

“Where _is_ Buffy?” Willow asked, a note of worry in her voice.

“Somewhere,” said Giles. “Don’t worry about it. Jenny, why don’t you stay with the children and brief them on the situation?” Before Jenny could respond, he finally managed to shake free of her grip, hurrying out of the library without looking back.

He heard running footsteps behind him, and turned, infuriated. Sure enough, Jenny had sprinted out of the library after him. “ _No,”_ she said. “You are _not_ getting off that easily. First of all, _lead me to my death?_ As if I would follow you _anywhere!_ If anything, I’d be leading _you,_ because you clearly don’t even know where you’re going! Second, you are _not_ throwing yourself into a suicide mission just because you feel like I’m never gonna trust you again, because that is _so_ fucking stupid and you _seriously_ need to get your priorities straight. Third—”

“She’s just a child, Jenny,” said Giles, a catch in his voice. “She doesn’t know what she’s getting into, and she’s down there all alone.”

“I can’t—” Jenny scrubbed a hand across her face, shaking. “I can’t lose _you,”_ she said. “Do you get _that?_ I can’t lose you on the same day the Master kills Buffy. You’ve been the one constant in this fucked-up town, and if I lose you—”

Giles stepped forward, almost unconsciously. Jenny looked up at him, eyes bright and wet.

“Wait,” said Xander from behind them. “ _Wait._ Buffy went after the _Master?_ ”

It suddenly and unpleasantly occurred to Giles that the time they had spent arguing was time during which Buffy might have already gotten herself killed. “Yes,” he said. “She did. And Jenny and I are going to go down and find her.”

Xander didn’t relax. Neither did Willow. “Do you guys seriously think that’s a good idea?” she said.

“Well, I definitely don’t think Jenny should come with me,” said Giles, “but I think I’ve wasted enough time trying to talk her out of it, and lord knows _that_ is a futile endeavor.”

“We’ll go and get Angel,” said Jenny. “He’ll know how to get us to the Master. You kids need to research anything and everything that might lead us to where the Hellmouth’s gonna open up.” Her eyes were on Willow when she said, “I trust you know your way around the library?”

“What if you guys get killed too?” said Willow, voice wobbling.

“Counterpoint: what if we don’t?” Jenny stepped forward, pulling Willow into a tight hug. Over the top of Willow’s head, she said to Xander, “And if you follow us down there, I will kill you _myself._ Capisce?”

Xander didn’t look very happy about this, but he nodded. “You guys better bring her back alive,” he said.

Giles didn’t know how to make that promise. “Come on, Jenny,” he said instead. Without a word, Jenny let go of Willow, falling into step with him as they hurried out of Sunnydale High.

* * *

 

They arrived at Angel’s apartment in record time, thanks to some utterly reckless driving on Jenny’s part, and burst in without knocking. Without preamble, Jenny informed Angel, “Buffy went after the Master.”

Angel blanched. “He’ll _kill_ her,” he said, horrified.

“That’s what we’re intending to stop,” said Giles matter-of-factly. “You know the way to the Master’s lair, I assume? We’ll need someone to take us there.”

Angel hesitated, studying Giles. Then he said, “You love her, huh?”

The Rupert Giles who had left England with thoughts of an obedient, dedicated Slayer would have balked at such a foolish question—or perhaps he might not have. Perhaps, Giles thought, this sort of love might have been in him all along, whether or not he had known it. “Very much,” he said.

Angel seemed satisfied with this. “He’s underground,” he said. “I can get you there.”

* * *

 

The tunnels were dark and dank, and Giles couldn’t stop thinking about how terrible a place this was for bright, brave Buffy to meet her end. Buffy had been nothing but light and youth, and the thought of her rotting away in some moldy enclave—

“Hey,” said Jenny, very softly, and he felt her hand slip into his, their fingers entwining. Belatedly, Giles realized that he was crying, and scrubbed hastily at his face, doing his best to regulate his breathing. Lord, and in front of _Angel—_

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Okay,” said Jenny, bumping her head against his shoulder. “Well, maybe the hand-holding isn’t to help _you._ ”

Giles wanted rather badly to appreciate the possibility of a reconciliation with Jenny. He wanted rather badly to return to the time when it was Jenny’s leaving that had had him absolutely miserable. Then, at least, all the people he cared about had been alive, and there had been no chance of anything _but_ that—

A bright light shone from a tunnel up ahead, and a ripple passed through the air. Instinctively, Giles knew what had happened; dropping Jenny’s hand, he _ran._

“Giles, it’s too late, he’s gone up!” Angel was shouting after him, but Giles was running down the slippery tunnel, turning the corner, clambering down and into the Master’s lair and _Buffy—_

Buffy was lying, facedown, in a pool of water. Giles half-fell down next to her, pulling her clumsily out and into his arms. She was cold and wet, her hair falling in lank tendrils around her face, and she wasn’t—and she wasn’t—

“She’s not breathing,” said a voice that didn’t sound anything like his own. He could see Jenny and Angel scrambling to reach him, and turned his attention back to Buffy, her eyes closed. She had been so still and calm, when last he saw her. Always, she had been loud and lighthearted, never carrying herself like she was battle-worn. _God,_ had he been foolish—thinking that her destiny didn’t weigh on her, thinking that she didn’t take it seriously, what had he been _thinking?_ Buffy, dead—Buffy, dead and gone—

“Not breathing,” said Jenny, “does not necessarily mean gone for good.” She pointed to Angel. “We’ve got a walking, talking example of that right here.”

“The prophecy—”

“ _Fuck_ the prophecy,” said Jenny fiercely. “If she drowned, then there’s a chance. Do you know CPR?”

“Yes,” said Giles dizzily. “Yes, I—” He removed his jacket, setting Buffy’s—setting _Buffy_ down on it as gently as possible, and was reminded of a time, months ago, when he had done just this in a science laboratory. He would do anything to protect this girl, he knew, and he knew that she could beat incredible odds— “Prove me wrong,” he whispered, and began the compressions, counting clumsily. He felt certain that he wasn’t strong enough, precise enough, _enough—_

Rescue breath. One, two.

“Shut _up,_ ” he heard Jenny saying to Angel, and he tried not to think about Jenny, or Angel, or Buffy, or the apocalypse around them, or how much time he might be wasting, trying to bring back a dead girl just because he loved her—

Rescue breath. One, two.

And what would he tell her if she was alive? That he loved her? He felt sure that she would laugh it off, and the thought of her laughing it off—of her laughing—made Giles smile, despite himself. She would laugh it off, and then she would give him that bright, sweet grin, and something would solidify between them—something not quite Watcher-Slayer, he supposed, something more along the lines of—she had a father, he knew, but—

Buffy coughed, and spat up a rather impressive amount of water all over Giles’s sweater vest.

“Oh my god,” said Jenny, and laughed, punching Angel’s shoulder. Angel winced. “Oh my _god—_ ”

Giles pulled back, taking Buffy’s hands in his. Buffy blinked up at him as if not quite sure who he was, coughed again, then sat up, staring at Giles with wide eyes. “Giles?” she said in a tiny voice.

“Buffy,” said Giles, and almost started crying when she pulled him into a crushing hug.

* * *

 

After that, the apocalypse really did feel like nothing at all. The Master was defeated, the Hellmouth beast retreating back from whence it came (Xander would inform everyone, proudly, that he got a good few hacks in with Giles’s battle-axe), and Cordelia Chase had somehow managed to destroy a respectable number of vampires with a rather expensive car—along with some school property, but Giles was off the clock and _really_ didn’t care all that much anyway. He had more important things on his mind.

“—and then I _flipped_ him through the roof,” Buffy was informing Xander and Willow, who were listening with rapt, adoring attention. “But you guys saw that part, obviously. I’m pretty sure almost everybody saw that part—Giles, you saw me flip him, right?”

“I did see you flip him,” Giles agreed, grinning. “You did _excellently_ tonight.”

“Aww, you’re just saying that ‘cause I died,” Buffy teased, leaning into Giles’s side with cheerful ease.

“Absolutely _not,_ ” said Giles emphatically. “Never assume I praise you for anything other than your stellar achievements.”

“You know what?” said Buffy to Willow. “If this is how he acts after I die, I’m gonna die _every day_ for the rest of my life.”

“Um,” said Willow, “logistically—”

Giles took this moment to tuck his jacket a bit more securely round Buffy’s shoulders. “I won’t have you catching cold,” he informed her. “That long in sewer water—it’s a wonder you’re not ill already.”

“You’re such a helicopter Watcher,” said Buffy, snuggling into the jacket. She buried her hands in the pockets, then stopped, a strange expression on her face. “Uh, Giles?” she said. “You, uh—want your jacket back?”

“Keep it,” said Giles. “Just till you’re a bit drier—”

“No, Giles, I _really think you should take your jacket back,”_ said Buffy, and directed an extremely significant look first at Jenny, then at the left-hand pocket of Giles’s jacket.

“Wh—” The penny dropped. Wincing, Giles took the jacket back, took out the ring box as subtly as he could, then firmly tucked the jacket back round Buffy’s shoulders. “You still need to stay warm,” he said.

“It’s _totally_ ruining my look!” Buffy protested.

“As you would say to me, _deal,_ ” said Giles, smoothing down Buffy’s hair. She grinned. “I really would have gone down there in your stead,” he informed her, grateful that the loud music of the Bronze muffled his words from the rest of the group.

“I know,” said Buffy, and her grin softened into the trusting little smile that, a very long time ago, Giles had seen directed at Jenny. “You _did_ come running after me.” She reached forward, hugging Giles. “Thank you,” she said into his shoulder. “You’re the best Watcher I’ve ever had.”

“The bar was set rather low, then, wasn’t it?” Giles quipped, hugging her back.

“Shut up,” said Buffy, pulling back to just keep smiling at him.

“Hey, uh, Buffy?” Angel was shifting from one foot to the other, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “Um—if you’re not too busy—there’s a nice song on, I thought maybe—”

“Why, _Angel,_ are you asking me to dance?” said Buffy, sounding positively delighted by the concept. She hopped up, giving Angel a big, smitten grin before turning back to Giles. “Love you,” she said, as easily and effortlessly as if she hadn’t had to think about it at all.

Giles found himself a bit overcome and had to polish his glasses. Buffy didn’t seem too surprised by this. “I—I love you too,” he said, though he supposed he didn’t really need to say it for her to know it. There wasn’t much else that could have motivated a Watcher to fight _against_ a recorded prophecy.

Buffy’s smile was just as bright and sweet as Giles had imagined it to be—more so, in fact, now that he was seeing it. Tucking her arm into Angel’s, she let him lead her onto the dance floor.

“You know what?” said Willow. “Let’s cut a rug. Xander, you wanna come dance?”

“Uh, Will, I don’t know—” Xander began.

“Not _with each other,_ ” said Willow, rolling her eyes. “It’s gonna be a fast song soon!”

Xander considered, then grinned, following Willow into the crowd.

It took Giles a moment to realize that this left only him and Jenny. About to stammer out some excuse and head home alone, he opened his mouth, but was cut off when Jenny held out her hand. “Dance with me,” she said.

Heart pounding, Giles stood up. “All right,” he said, and took her hand, following her lead.

There was an empty space by the refreshments, and that was where Jenny draped her arms around his neck, looking up at him with all the affection he had been so afraid of losing. It left him all but speechless. “So you were a _total_ stubborn idiot tonight,” she said. “Really reaffirmed some pressing questions.”

“Oh?” said Giles.

“Yeah,” said Jenny. “It was kinda hard for me to picture you as a Watcher till I saw it in action, you know? All those diaries I read had Watchers as self-serving bastards who talked about their Slayers like commodities, and that just…” She trailed off. “That didn’t fit with the guy I fell in love with,” she said. “But this night really, really does.”

Giles stared at her. Slowly, he said, “I don’t—I don’t entirely follow—”

“I love you, Rupert,” said Jenny, and _oh,_ Giles had _never_ dreamed hearing it from her might ever feel like this. Now he understood why she had looked at him like he was a treasure, after Angel; the head-to-toe feeling of being loved, of being known in one’s entirety and _still_ being loved, was overwhelming. “I was so scared,” she said unsteadily, “that you made yourself up as some kind of a cover story. And it made so much more sense than this sweet, annoying, ridiculous librarian just _falling_ into my life completely by accident.”

“I never lied about the important bits,” said Giles quietly. “I never could.”

“I know that now,” said Jenny, giving him a small, wobbly smile.

The slow song had transitioned into a fast one, but they remained swaying quietly to the music, Jenny in Giles’s arms. Jenny Calendar, well aware that her husband was a Watcher, somehow looking at him with just as much love as she had when he was just a clumsy librarian. Giles couldn’t comprehend how lucky, how _happy_ he was.

“And I would never _dream_ of lying about loving you,” Giles whispered. He needed to make sure she heard it, properly, with no secrets or hurt separating them. “I—I don’t know how I can possibly express—all the things I want to tell you, now that I can—”

“So save a few for tomorrow,” said Jenny, her smile widening. “We’ve got more than enough time for you to butter me up.”

Giles let out a watery laugh. “More than enough time?”

“All the time in the world,” said Jenny.

“Wait,” said Giles. “So—”

“ _Yes,_ Rupert, I want us to get back together,” said Jenny, looking up at him with that exasperated amusement that he had missed so _much._ “What does it take to get that through to you?”

“Possibly a formal dissertation,” said Giles, not very seriously, which made Jenny start giggling as he leaned in.

There was then a series of very loud cheers. Well aware that the children were almost _definitely_ watching their reconciliation, and that he was most _certainly_ going to be teased by his audience if he continued the kiss he had initiated, Giles…was distracted by the flutter of Jenny’s eyelashes, and her slowly-spreading smile, and kissed her anyway.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Cordelia was saying to someone in the background. “Those two are weird. But they’re at least weird _together,_ you know? Less trauma for the rest of the dating pool, probably.”

“Cordelia, please shut up,” said Buffy.

Jenny broke the kiss, resting her forehead against Giles’s with a happy sigh. “I love you,” she whispered again.

Giles felt as though his sheer, dizzying joy might send him flying off into space. “I love you too,” he whispered back, struck with the knowledge that he got to _say_ those words, and mean them, for as long as their marriage lasted.

That line of thought reminded him of something important. Keeping one hand on his wife’s waist, he fumbled in his pocket. Jenny looked somewhat bemused by this. “Rupert, what—” she began, and then stopped, breath catching in her throat, as Giles opened the ring box.

“ _Wait,”_ said Cordelia. “But they’re already married!”

“You’re a little behind the times, sweetie,” said Xander, and attempted to pat Cordelia’s shoulder. Cordelia stepped very hard on his foot.

“I can’t really go down on one knee,” said Giles, giving her a small, apologetic grin. “Partially because I feel fairly certain I fractured my kneecap in the sewer—”

“—after this, we’re going to the ER,” Jenny informed him in a somewhat wobbly voice, directing a shaky smile at the engagement ring.

“—yes, of course, dear, but please don’t detract from my point,” said Giles.

“Are you seriously correcting me in the middle of this?” Jenny asked, raising her eyes to Giles’s—and _oh,_ her eyes were _full_ of love.

“Of course,” said Giles, his grin becoming more smitten than nervous. “It’s rather our MO, isn’t it?” He removed his free hand from her waist, using it to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She turned her face into his hand, smiling back up at him. “Jenny, I love you,” he said softly. “No part of this arrangement was what I ever imagined, but I don’t think I could _ever_ have anticipated falling into the life of such a terrifying, stubborn, bitingly intelligent woman _completely_ by accident. It’s me who’s the lucky one, darling.”

Jenny preened. “You can say that again.”

“And I want to,” said Giles. “And I will. Every day, and every week, and every month, and every year. Jenny, will you—” He stopped, realized the problem with proposing to the woman he had already married, and rather wished (for the first and hopefully last time) that he had listened to Cordelia Chase’s snide side commentary. “Um.”

“Take your grandmother’s engagement ring and not divorce you till death do us part?” said Jenny helpfully, looking very much like she was trying not to laugh. “Because I will _definitely_ do both of those things.”

A very long time ago, Rupert Giles might have cared about the fact that proposing to his fake wife in the middle of an American high school prom was absolutely _not_ what the Watchers’ Council would call _respectable._ A very, _very_ long time ago, he might not have grinned, tears in his eyes, as Jenny donned his grandmother’s engagement ring, draped her arms back round his neck, and kissed him like it was their wedding day, the children starting up a new round of cheering.

“Are we seriously cheering on a couple of newlyweds deciding not to get a divorce?” said Cordelia. “ _Someone_ better explain this to me at _some_ point.”

“She’s right,” murmured Giles, pulling back just enough for his lips to still brush Jenny’s as he spoke. “This whole affair is _horribly_ unromantic.”

“Just my style,” Jenny whispered.

Giles smiled, soft and slow. “Mine too, I think,” he said, and leaned in, tenderly kissing his wife.


	15. epilogue: the beginning

“Vampires,” said Jenny, giggling drunkenly, “are _real?”_

“Oh, fuck, I’m not s’posed to have—no consequences!” Giles interrupted himself rather loudly. He said it again, just for emphasis. “No  _consequences,_ because I shall not be _seeing_ you again, so _yes_ vampires are _very very real.”_

“Conspiracy theorist,” said Jenny, beaming at him.

“They are _too_ real!” said Giles, digging out the cross in his pocket.

Jenny blinked, then beamed, staring incredulously down at the cross. “You know your shit, huh?” she said, reaching across the table in what seemed to be an attempt to grab Giles’s hand. She missed it by a mile. “Okay. If it’s sharing time, _I_ will share too. Did you know—” she hiccupped, then continued, “—did you know that vampires _are_ real?”

“Course I did,” said Giles. “I just told you.”

“No, you—” Jenny waved a hand. “No, _I_ knew too. ‘S a whole big family secret.” She dug in her own purse, pulling out an ornamental cross of her own, then added a small bottle of holy water to the mix. “See?”

“Bloody hell,” said Giles, and started giggling.

“What?” said Jenny, sounding already halfway to giggles again herself.

“What are the _odds,_ ” said Giles, “that we would meet each other here tonight? Two incredibly attractive bisexual strangers who know about vampires and carry around crosses? It’s as though th’ universe is trying to tell us something—”

“In _Vegas,”_ Jenny agreed. “We met in _Vegas._ Rupert, do you know what people do in Vegas?”

“Lose all of their money at casinos and strip clubs?”

“Also that,” said Jenny. “But I’m talking about—” She stopped as the bartender passed. “One more!” she called. “One of the—the fruity greeny green shot things.”

“Sure,” said the bartender, who seemed to have accepted that Giles and Jenny would likely never leave his establishment.

“I love the drinks they have here,” said Jenny, reaching across the table to grab Giles’s hands. This time, she _did_ manage it, and Giles found himself holding hands across the table with possibly the most beautiful woman in the world. “Also I love your face. You have a really nice face.”

“You have a very nice face as well,” Giles informed her. “You have nice hair also and I feel certain that it smells very nice.”

“It does smell nice,” said Jenny happily.

“But you were saying—something,” said Giles. “You were saying—”

“ _Oh_ I was saying what people do in _Vegas!_ ” said Jenny, loudly enough that the bartender (placing down the drink) winced. “Thank you for the _shot,_ ” she informed him, still very loudly, and downed it in one go, turning back to Giles with a shiver. “I was _saying,_ ” she said, “that people get _married_ in Vegas.”

“ _We_ should get married in Vegas,” said Giles. It was a splendid idea. Tonight was consequence-free, and tomorrow he would have a _wife,_ and his wife would be the most wonderful woman in the _entire world,_ and she could come with him to Sunnydale and meet his Vampire Slayer.

“Yeah!” said Jenny, beaming at him. “See? We’re completely in sync!”

“Soulmates,” said Giles.

“ _Totally,_ ” said Jenny. “Bartender, I need _seven_ more shots!”

“I definitely can’t give either of you more drinks,” said the bartender, looking doubtfully between Giles and Jenny. “Also, I would _seriously_ recommend you two rethink the whole marriage thing.”

“You know what,” said Jenny, “I am _done_ being told what to do by people who aren’t living my life. And that goes for you, too, Rupert, okay? Once we’re married, _I_ will be telling _you_ what to do.”

“You are very confident,” said Giles. “It’s very sexy.”

Jenny beamed. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. So we’re gonna go get married, but first we are going to go out to my car and have sex in the front seat. Does that sound good?”

“I am extremely in support of that idea,” Giles agreed.

“Because I am _not_ the type of person to wait until marriage.”

“Smart,” said Giles. “That way we know if we’re compatible.”

“See?” Jenny leaned across the table, pressing an off-center kiss to Giles’s mouth. His lips tingled in a way that had very little to do with the alcohol. “Soulmates. This is going to be the _best_ marriage ever.”


End file.
